Don't Speak
by BuJyo
Summary: The story is RESURRECTED! Mary and Marshall deal with the aftermath of her kidnapping post Stan by Me , but this version is darker and angsty. Events and timeline are modified. * Warning for topic of rape *
1. Hiding

***** Another darker story that just wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. I'm fascinated by the study of people's reactions to traumatic events, especially those who see a lot of tragedy befall others then have to deal with it themselves. Mary's abduction by Spanky's thugs and her ordeal in the basement during Stan by Me could've been extraordinarily worse, and I wrote this story with the premise that the rape had occurred. Mary now finds herself in a situation where she struggles with maintaining her dignity, yet needs to confide to her partner. A lot of anger and frustration that they will both have to deal with. *****

***** The order of events in the investigation following her abduction are changed slightly in this story, but the characters remain the same (and they're not mine) *****

***** Thank you, sfchemist, for your fabulous beta skills, and to freaya for reviewing and encouraging! *****

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**_"It is a brave act of valor to condemn death, but where life is more terrible than death it is then the truest valor to dare to live."_ - Sir Thomas Brown**

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"Marshall here."

"It's Stan." There was a hesitation, then he continued, "Is she with you?"

Marshall's brow furrowed at his somber tone. "Yes, she didn't want to go home. Why? Is there a problem?"

Stan took a deep breath and Marshall's uneasiness grew while he listened, "I know she asked you not to read her statement and I understand you'll need to honor that."

Marshall stopped preparing the sandwiches and leaned against the counter to concentrate on the conversation, "She needs some time to process things, Stan. I'll let her do that. She'll tell me what she wants me to know when she's ready. What is this about?"

"I had to read her statement in order to put the file together for Headquarters." Again the hesitation before his boss blew out a breath, "It's bad."

Marshall thought back to the sight of Mary in the basement with the shovel in her hand, eyes wide with fear as she backed up. Disheveled, blood spattered, sweaty and bruised. Her clothes awry and torn from struggles, wrists bound and swollen from the chains. She shook and faltered in his embrace, whispering words he couldn't quite understand as she clutched at his shirt.

They had to help her up the stairs, but she stopped them in the kitchen and he saw her visibly pull herself together before exiting the house to face the crowd of cops and arriving medical personnel. Shrugging off their arms, Mary walked out on her own power with her face set and chin high and Marshall had felt a swell of pride. She wouldn't let him ride to the hospital with her, squelching all his protests and insisting she was fine, intent on keeping her own cloak of pride pulled tightly around her.

He pulled his attention back to the present and the phone call. "I know it was bad, Stan. I saw her too."

"Marshall…" Stan began, and Marshall could envision him pacing as he chose his words, rubbing his head, "just…keep her close."

The cryptic statement stirred up tendrils of unease in Marshall's stomach, but he tried to reassure the man on the other end, "I plan to. Keep me informed if there's any updates."

"Yeah. Will do." Stan disconnected and Marshall just stared at the phone, lost in his own thoughts.

Mary watched him from the hallway as he hung up the phone, his conversation too muted for her to have heard the exchange. The shower had washed away the grime, sweat and blood, but it had done nothing to cleanse her soul. She was weary beyond the physical and knew the pain of humiliation and powerlessness would not soon abate. The man standing at the counter was the only human being on this planet that she would trust right now, but the thought of even telling him caused her to shudder. Time…she would need time.

"Who was that?" Mary asked as she slowly walked toward the kitchen.

Marshall startled and nearly dropped his phone and Mary had to chuckle, "Whoa, Cowboy, climb back in the saddle there."

He shook his head at himself with a return grin, "I'm still jacked up on adrenaline I guess. Going to take a while to power down."

"Ya think?" she replied, helping herself to a glass of water and noting the food Marshall was preparing.

He watched her move and catalogued the hitch in her gait, the carefulness as she reached for the glass and his eyes slid over the bruised and scratched face to settle on the colorful wrists. Marshall didn't know why those bruises bothered him the most. The thought of his proud and strong partner bound with chains by men who were the epitome of weakness and cowardice fueled a rage inside of him that would not be so easily extinguished. Bullets were too good for them, and prison a poor excuse for punishment. He wanted to chain them to a wall and let Mary exact her revenge…then he would finish them off for her…for himself.

"Marshall?" Mary was looking at him with concern as she stood at the sink.

Refocusing, he shrugged aside revenge for the time being and made his voice pleasant, "Just some wishful thinking. Are you hungry?"

She made a face as she looked at the food, but didn't look at him. "Not really, but since I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday I guess I should put something in my stomach."

Marshall reached out slowly to set his hand on her shoulder, glad she didn't flinch. "Go sit on the couch before you fall over. I'll bring it to you."

A quick glance at him, then she nodded and moved painfully to the living room. Her mind was racing with memories of the past eighteen hours, her body throbbing and aching in places it shouldn't, her resolve to remain silent and stoic undermined by Marshall's kindness, and Mary's eyes welled up with tears as she sat on the cushions. Taking deep breaths, she willed her eyes dry and surreptitiously wiped at the few tears that fell before her partner could see them. This would not break her, she vowed, it would not crumble her well built walls of protection. This too, shall pass.

Turning on the TV to distract herself, Mary found a show that would appeal to both of them and tried to detach herself from the dark corners of her mind in order to focus on the here and now. It only worked for a few minutes before scenes from an innocuous commercial triggered snippets of fear, and she was lost again.

…_gravel digging into her cheek as her limbs failed her…_

…_desperate contortions to reach a weapon that was useless. Tears of frustration…_

…_nausea from the smell of sweat and blood…and other things on her face…_

…_frantic searches for words that would save her, words that would distract…_

…_pain from blows meant to weaken her…pain from wrists stretched too far…pain from men who laughed…_

…_fury when faced with death, and rage to power her escape…_

Marshall sat the plate in front of her and Mary gasped as she jumped in her seat, one hand flying to her chest as the other grabbed the cushion. She gulped air as she looked at him in relief, "Sorry…like you said, it'll take some time to power down." Marshall was looking at her with concern etched into every line of his face and Mary couldn't meet his eyes so she focused on the food offered.

"This looks good. Thank you."

The flinch and fright in her eyes as he startled her stabbed through him. This was so far from the Mary he knew that he didn't know how to act, didn't know what to say, if anything. Marshall felt like he was walking on eggshells, not knowing when one would break and she would shatter with it. She vibrated with tension and he sensed her own precarious self control was only a moment from crumbling. He didn't want her to have to hold it together for him.

"Mare, you don't have to keep me company. If you'd rather go to bed I'd completely understand." He watched her pick at her sandwich, "I know you're exhausted."

She tilted her head and shrugged, "Even if I fell asleep, I'd end up awake and screaming soon after so I don't see the point," never looking away from the plate of food.

It was the lack of emotion in the statement that twisted his gut. She stated it as fact and he knew it was true, that she would not sleep without nightmares tonight or many nights beyond. He didn't think he would either, but hers would be of real pain while his would be of what ifs. He studied her as she put the plate on her lap, again wincing with the shift in position, picking up a piece of the sandwich and biting into it listlessly. Her eyes were on the TV screen, but he didn't think she was watching the show. Marshall wasn't used to the silence.

She felt him watching her and tried to keep her breaths even while chewing the obviously well prepared sandwich that tasted like dust in her mouth. She just wanted to hide, wanted him to stop looking at her because she knew he knew there was more wrong than just being beat up in a basement. Swallowing, Mary sighed and placed the plate back on the coffee table, turning to face her partner. She looked at him and tried a small smile, then her eyes skated away and focused on his chin.

"I don't know what to say right now, Marshall. I'm a mess…inside and out, and there's a part of me that wants to run as far away from you as I can while there's another part of me that wants to crawl into your lap and bawl. I'm holding it together by a thread right now because I don't want to become some weeping, sobbing mess in your living room, or stand screaming until the neighbors think you're murdering me and call the cops. In fact, I don't even know what I want to do. I don't know how to act when my mind is flying off into so many different directions." Mary couldn't stop the words tumbling out of her mouth, her voice catching occasionally and her hands pinching and twisting the hem of her t-shirt.

Marshall could see her tension building and felt his own nerves twitch as she spoke. He could hear her confusion at the conflicting emotions raging within her and knew she needed a safe place to breakdown. A place of comfort.

"How can I help you?" he asked softly, stilling her hands with his own and slowly working them out of their tight fists within the fabric.

Mary watched his hands manipulate hers, feeling so distanced from her own body that she barely felt his touch, "Tell me how you found me. Help me take my mind off of where I was."

Marshall wasn't sure how this would help her, but she had let her hands stay in his and her voice sounded steadier so he obliged. He told her about Bobby's discovery of her cell phone and the whole route of information that led them to realizing she was missing. He told her about Agent O'Conner and his bad attitude. He answered some of her questions regarding what everyone now knew about her family. She asked about Brandi's involvement and Marshall relayed the information he had gotten from the FBI and their own searches on Spanky and Chuck. Told her about finding the license plate number on her pad of paper and the circuitous route to tracking down the man whose house she was held in.

Mary sat still and listened, Marshall's voice comforting and her brain engaged in the twists and turns of his search for her and the developing story that went with it. She asked a few questions here and there to make sense of things in her own mind, and finally felt herself begin to reconnect with the world around her. The sounds and smells of Marshall's house soothing her as the remembered sounds of shouts and gunfire and smells of mildew and body odor faded away. She felt like there was now an end to what had happened, a point in time in which the nightmare stopped and she got to wake up. It took a moment for her to realize her partner had stopped talking, his thumbs continuing to slowly trace circles on her hands.

"I'm out."

Her words fell into the silence with certainty.

"Yes. You're out and you're here with me. It's over and done."

He knew she was trying to anchor herself in space and time, trying to grab reality and keep it from trying to fly away again.

"Brandi's okay."

"She's fine. We'll deal with that tomorrow…or the next day. They can wait." He'd rip O'Connor to shreds if he tried to push the issue.

She was playing with his fingers now and he let her, giving her the physical distraction that she always needed when thinking things through.

Mary's thought rambled out of her mouth before she could stop it, "I killed a man in cold blood tonight, Marshall. Gunned him down not just because I needed to…but I wanted to." She had a look of disgust on her face.

"You were surviving, Mary. There's no time to think. You just do what you have to." He wished she would look at him, "You can't second guess those actions and you can't punish yourself for them."

It was a conversation they had had before, either one of them on the receiving end.

Pulling her hands away, Mary rubbed her face and sighed through her fingers, bringing her hands to rest over her mouth as she finally looked at him. Her eyes were haunted and filled with emotion. She slowly shook her head as if there was a silent question she was answering. Dropping her hands in her lap, she slowly spoke.

"I'm not second guessing. I'd do it again. I just didn't know I could…and I didn't know it would bother me."

"We're all capable of doing things we didn't know we could when we have to. I walked away from a man who was going to blow himself up. You were going to assassinate people in order to pull me out of a gas station." He swallowed with the difficult memories, "Sometimes we have to turn ourselves over to that part of us that drives on instinct…primitive. What saves us coming out the other side is knowing right from wrong, our capacity for remorse. "

Mary could hear the tremble in his voice and see the emotion played out on his face as he spoke. He had hit the nail on the head. She needed to hear it said; that the actions she had taken with intent could be mourned later without guilt. Not remorse for herself, but mourning for the life she took. The second was no easier than the first, and the hundredth would be just as hard. The day it was easy was the day she handed in her gun.

He saw her relax just a fraction and sighed himself, "Does that put your mind at ease a little?"

Nodding, Mary turned and took a drink of water and then looked at him while worrying her bottom lip, "Are you going to stay up for a while?"

"I'm up as long as you are." There was no way he would sleep until he knew she was tucked in safe and sound.

"Let's just watch a show, okay?"

Marshall could see her thinking about something, but just followed her lead tonight, "Okay, you pick. You know I'm not too choosy."

"Liar. You whine if I pick something you don't like," she teased with a sideways glance and Marshall was happy to be drawn into the brief bickering that ensued while they decided on a show.

Mary flipped through the channels until they settled on a movie they both liked, and before she could change her own mind, leaned over to carefully lay her head on Marshall's thigh and slowly reposition herself until she lay on her side on the couch. The contact nearly undid her, and she blinked rapidly to keep from tearing up. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on the show and the warmth of this man she trusted.

She surprised him with the move, but he was glad for the contact. It was Mary's way of inviting him into her space and he made sure to accept it without question. He reached over to snag the blanket from the arm of the couch next to him and spread it over her, smoothing it and keeping one hand resting on her arm as he finished.

"Thanks." Her quiet acceptance was followed by a sigh.

"Are you going to eat that sandwich?" he asked a minute later, concerned by her lack of appetite.

"Not right now. Maybe later." The bite she had taken was sitting in a lump in her stomach and she didn't trust her own digestive system at this time. "I don't think you want to clean your upholstery."

"I thank you for your consideration," he smiled and felt her chuckle.

As he allowed himself comfort in the solid feel of her head on his thigh and his hand on her arm, Marshall thought back to the nearly continuous prayers he had offered up over the last hours. Not a devout man, he wasn't used to turning to his faith in times of need, but now quickly closed his eyes in thanks for prayers seemingly answered. It could easily have gone another way so many times and he could be sitting here alone with no hope of ever seeing her again…touching her again. Gently rubbing her arm, he leaned back and tried to relax both mind and body as he turned his attention to the movie.

Mary could not keep her mind on the movie for more than a minute or two as voices echoing in her head continued to fight their way into her awareness. The memories of mocking and crude taunting by her captors that evolved into threats and whispered promises made her stomach roil again, and she tried to shove the thoughts back down into the far recesses of her mind. Tried to think of the damage she had done to them initially, her victory in staying alive and keeping all her fingers by bargaining, the feel of her weapon discharging as she was finally free. Thoughts that made her feel stronger, steady.

She felt herself become drowsy and closed her eyes with the hope of falling into the abyss of sleep uneventfully.

Marshall felt her breathing change and knew she had fallen asleep. He smiled down at her and was glad she was able to find some escape from pain and fear. She had pulled her hair into a loose ponytail after the shower and her cheek and neck were exposed as she lay on her side. Scratches and the smudges of bruises were scattered here and there, but Marshall's eyes were suddenly drawn to a reddened ring on the side of her neck just above her collarbone. He held his breath as he squinted at the mark, then blew it out very slowly as his gut tightened with the recognition of a human bite mark.

She had told them about the attempted rape during her ordeal while they were at the police station. He had picked her up from the hospital to bring to the station in order to give a statement, and Mary decided to give him, Stan and Bobby a brief overview of the events during the kidnapping. Lumped the disturbing event together with the shooting, bargaining and ultimate homicide in self defense. He had watched her stumble over the words a bit and hug her arms with the retelling, but Mary had glossed over any details and seemed to shake it off pretty thoroughly by the time she had gone off to give her formal statement to a junior detective. She refused to let Bobby be pulled away from his work with the Inspectors. Marshall had offered to go with her, but she waved him off with a well practiced glare and he knew not to push the issue.

But now the physical reminder of the near violation caused his skin to crawl. Even if he didn't harbor feelings beyond friendship for this woman, that bruised ring marring her skin would've still provoked the flare of protective instinct strong enough to make him grind his teeth. The thought of that scumbag on the floor touching and groping her made him want to go back into that house and empty another clip into the dead man's head…or other body parts. Again the scenarios of what might have been swirled through his mind and Marshall did not want to think beyond the word 'attempted'. Rape was a heinous crime against any woman, but his partner was precious to him, and violence of that nature would need to be avenged. Quickly. Savagely.

Mary must've been furious, he knew, unrelenting in her defense with intent to maim and kill. For anyone to put her in a position of vulnerability and powerlessness would be akin to trapping a wild animal. They would both rather gnaw their own limbs off than to accept defeat. And if defeat would've been dealt to her, Marshall didn't know how she would react. She may rant and rave, she may hide, she may even break. Life had thrown many things at Mary Shannon, and she had whipped them all back with extra speed and a curse, but being held down and beaten…Marshall shook his head to banish the disturbing thoughts. It didn't happen, and Mary was asleep and safe on his lap. Knocked a bit off kilter, to be sure, but in one piece and still herself.

He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gently brushed his fingers over the bite mark as if to deliver a soothing balm. It was at these times, when she was unaware of being watched and off guard that Marshall truly saw the woman beneath the hard exterior. Soft skin, graceful curves and a delicate nature to her bones. He had heard some of his colleagues jokingly wonder if she was a man in disguise due to her abrasive personality and propensity to violence, but he only had to think of these glimpses into femininity to bring a private smile to his face. He may tease her himself, but she was most definitely a girl. Marshall leaned back to try to turn his attention to the show.

It was the smell in her dream that drove her to wake, the smell of unwashed hair infused with cigarette smoke. The man's head tucked into her neck as he clutched at her from behind while she kicked at him. He laughed as he bit her and Mary yelled in frustration when his hands were undeterred in their mission of undressing her. She caught his kneecap with a boot finally, but her victory was short lived as his companion then jumped in to help. Mary frantically pulled at the bolt. Trapped. Overpowered. "_Marshall!_" she screamed in her head.

"Marshall!" Mary yelled hoarsely, sitting up abruptly and pulling off the blanket to throw it on the floor as if it was going to bite her.

Marshall startled just as badly, pushing back into the cushions with his hands held up in front of him as he watched her struggle to reorient herself. She looked panicked and he tried to help, talking in a low and steady voice.

"Mary, I'm right here. You're at my house. You're on my couch. I'm right here."

Mary heard him and her eyes slowly focused on his form in the dim living room, the bluish light from the TV flickering over his features. She was shaking from the adrenaline produced in the dream, sweating from exertion and disgust as she could still feel their hands on her. Forcing herself to sit still and calm down, she took deep breaths, leaned forward slightly and held onto the couch as she talked to her partner.

"I'm good. Just a dream." Her throat was so dry she barely scratched out a whisper, "Shit."

"I'm going to get up and get you another glass of water, okay?" Marshall wanted to make sure she knew he was going to move before he did it. Didn't want to startle or alarm her with his actions.

Mary looked over at him and nodded slowly, "Yeah…yeah. That'll be good. I'm okay."

Marshall rose and looked down at her, "You're a far way from okay, Mare."

She stared up at him with an unreadable look for a moment, then replied, "I'll get there. Being here is a start."

He brought back the water, shaky himself as his recent thoughts made the whole situation even more tense and fraught with emotion. Mary took the glass from him with two hands and drank it down quickly, thirsty to the core.

"Dammit, Marshall. How the hell am I going to get some rest if I'm having nightmares twenty minutes after I fall asleep?" Mary was frustrated, "Maybe you should just knock me out, I'm sure you have some magic choke hold that'll do the trick?" She was only half kidding and grinned weakly at him.

Her request made him grimace, but he could understand her reasoning. He, too, was exhausted and could only imagine the tiredness she felt after fighting for her life for a full day.

"I've still got some meds from when I took that bullet. They might help," he offered, seeing her weigh the decision.

Mary hated to take medication and she rarely took anything stronger than an Advil if she could help it.

"You're in pain, Mare, I can see it. They would take the edge off…let you relax physically."

"What are they?" She didn't want to take anything but his argument was valid and her pain had not gotten any better since she had arrived at her partner's house.

"Percocet…and some Xanax if you want that too."

"Planning a party?" she teased with a half smile, knowing that her partner hated to take meds as much as she did, and he probably had a whole bottle left over of both.

He shrugged with a return grin, "Nah, just waiting for the street value to go up a notch. Gonna buy me a new shoulder holster."

Mary had to chuckle with the drawl and Marshall smiled to see her relax just a smidge.

Sobering, Mary decided to give the meds a try. She wasn't planning on going anywhere or talking to anyone, so if she was off her game it wouldn't matter.

"If I took both I'd probably sleep for days, so let's just try the pain meds for now."

Marshall gave her a thumbs up and went to retrieve the meds and Mary stood to stretch and take the dishes into the kitchen. She had stiffened up again and her first couple of steps only served to assure her the pain medicine was a good decision. She was bruised, scraped and cut…the worst injuries being her wrists and the damage done by the men. The doctor and nurse at the hospital tried to convince her to fill the prescription, but she waved them off just as she waved off their advice to spend the night. The only medicine she would take was the Tylenol and the contraceptive. Thank God she was already on the pill.

The hospital visit had been torturous in itself, having to tell the story twice and suffer through the exam. The SANE nurse was wonderful, really, but there was nothing anyone could've done to make it easy, to make it less violating, humiliating and painful.

She was glad both men were dead, glad they both lay in that house lifeless when she left. She would never have to testify against them and drag the whole ugly mess out into the light of day for people to point and whisper. That was her biggest fear, honestly, that those who knew and respected her would look at her differently. Feel pity for her and view her as less than she was. Especially those close to her…Stan…and Marshall. She was going to have to tell him, and the thought made her stomach turn again and spurred her to hurry to the bathroom.

She nearly bowled him over as she rushed into the bathroom and shut and locked the door, and Marshall stood in the hallway perplexed, then concerned as he heard her be sick. Not wanting to linger outside the door and embarrass her, he headed into the kitchen to set down the medications and give her a minute to recover.

Leaning both hands on the counter and flexing his shoulders, Marshall knew something would have to give. He needed her to talk about her ordeal because he could barely stand not knowing anymore, but he knew he couldn't push her as that would result in a shut down and she would retreat. He remembered his own volatile emotions after being shot, the need to internalize everything so you had time to sort out your own feelings before having to deal with the reactions of others. Rage, fear and vulnerability too close to the surface to tolerate the comfort of others without shattering into a million pieces. Mary would be juggling that now, he chastised himself, and he needed to give her the time to regroup. Calling upon patience and understanding, he walked back to the bathroom.

He knocked softly, "Mary? You okay in there?"

Mary was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub, a cool rag on her forehead as the nausea subsided to leave her weak. She didn't want to talk to him, yet wanted to tell him everything. The conflict was tearing her up. Why was this so hard to talk to him about? Why did it bring tears to her eyes to think of saying the words…telling the story to him? She could tell Marshall anything. They talked about things that would make other people cover their ears and sing in order to avoid hearing them. What made this so awful? Why did it make her feel stripped bare and raw? Mary now knew…knew why women never reported the crime.

Her lack of response was a bit alarming and he called again, "Mare…I can unlock the door from out here you know. Talk to me."

"I'm fine, Marshall. I'll be out in a minute. Stop hovering." Mary tried to put a snap into her tone.

He wasn't buying it, but gave her a little wiggle room, "If you're not out in five minutes, I'm coming in." Shaking his head at her answering mutter, Marshall went back to the living room to wait for her.

She appeared a few minutes later, pale and tired looking, and stood near the couch with her arms hugging her elbows, just looking at him. He could see her weighing options in her head, but didn't know what the dilemma was, so he just sat and waited.

Mary studied her partner as he regarded her from the couch, his face and posture so familiar and comforting to her after all these years. She had come over here instead of going home in order to try to salvage the small amount of pride and dignity she had left, and found even that slipping out of her grasp as words tumbled about in her head.

"_Just say it, Mary,_" she prodded herself, "_just tell him. Tell him about the cowards who made sure the fight wasn't fair. Tell him how you thought of him to keep yourself from going insane while your world fractured. Tell him you fought…fought until you could do nothing but just breathe. He'll tell you everything will be all right. He'll tell you you're still Mary._"

Her jaw remained stubbornly set and her lips closed, and Mary felt tears of frustration gather in her eyes as the words in her head would not emerge.

Marshall saw her distress and stood to place his hands on her shoulders, "Hey, it's going to be all right. It will."

Mary dropped her eyes and swallowed, then stepped back out of his grasp, weakly stating, "It's been a long day. I'm going to bed." She glanced up at him again quickly, then turned to walk painfully to the bedroom.

He slowly let his arms drop as he watched her retreat. She had shut down. He saw it happen as she stood there and there was nothing he could do but let her go.

He checked on her about a half hour later and she seemed to be sound asleep. Marshall was still keyed up, so decided to give Stan a call to prepare for morning.

"Anything new?" he asked his boss after the man answered, "Spanky decide to spill his guts? If not, I've got a few ideas for the questioning in the morning."

Stan swore quietly before slowly speaking, "Marshall, the FBI took custody. He's not ours anymore."

"What?!" Marshall was on his feet as he spat, "That's not a pissing contest they would win. Who the fuck made that decision?" He could practically see spots in front of his eyes he was so mad.

"O'Connor wouldn't give me details, but my guess is Spanky's going to roll over on a lot of people. He's got nothing to lose…he's looking at the death penalty. Unfortunately, I think he's planning on implicating Mary in order to stroke O'Conner's ego and try to finagle a reprieve." Stan knew the last part would only further anger Marshall, but he didn't want the man to learn about it from anyone else.

"Jesus Christ, Stan," Marshall was pacing, trying to keep his voice low so not to disturb Mary, "I swear to God I'll kill them both if they try to take her down. Find something to derail them."

"O'Connor's on a mission, but we may have something to use on Spanky. I need your expertise, though." Stan tried to focus his Inspector.

Marshall stared at the ceiling and tried to calm down, "Okay, but I'm not coming in until morning. She's finally asleep."

"How is she?" Stan's quiet question was filled with concern.

"She's Mary. She's not going to stay down, she's going to want to be involved in the case from every angle, and the best thing we can do for her right now is support that."

Stan was quiet for a moment then hesitantly asked, "She talk anymore about what happened?"

"She talked about having to shoot a man, but that's about it. I got her to take some pain meds and she went to bed. Not real forthcoming right now. I would expect her to be more abusive than usual for the next week or so until she regains her footing."

"I have to release her statement tomorrow," Stan warned.

"I'm sure she knows that, Stan," Marshall was becoming irritated, "Just let her have this little bit of control over the whole situation with me. She wants to tell me about it outside of a piece of paper for her own reasons and that's fine. I'm sure you can keep mum for a while longer?"

Stan knew he could, but there would be others who couldn't. "I'll respect her wishes."

Marshall could hear the reluctance in his boss' voice and offered his own advice, "Oh, and don't coddle her. She's liable to cut off your head…or other vital body parts if she thinks you're treating her favorably because of this whole mess."

Stan sometimes wondered if the tight partnership of Mary and Marshall was more than it seemed, but he was never so glad for that connection as he was now. Marshall knew her better than anyone, and Stan knew Mary wouldn't trust anyone else right now. She was in the best place she could be.

"See if you can get her to go home for a while tomorrow and get your ass into the office to plot with me," Stan ordered, "The sooner we get a crack at the FBI's case the better."

Marshall agreed and disconnected, intent on getting to Spanky one way or the other…almost hoping O'Connor would get in his way. Shutting down the lights, he readied himself for bed and checked in on his partner one last time. He wondered if he should just sleep in the chair in case she awoke with nightmares, then figured that would piss her off and just made sure both her door and his were open so he could hear her if she called.

He awoke to the sound of the shower before dawn, and it took a few moments to remember that Mary was there. Marshall was worried he had slept through a nightmare, and lay awake until he heard the water shut off and her emerge from the bathroom. Not wanting to startle her, he just called out from his room.

"You need anything, Mare?"

There was a pause before she replied, "No. Thanks. Just needed a shower. Go back to sleep."

"You'll come get me if you need me, right?"

He wanted to make sure she understood his true willingness to be there for her.

"Scout's honor," she promised with a smile, using his usual response.

A half hour later Marshall felt the mattress on the other side of the bed dip as his partner tried to carefully crawl in without waking him. He dutifully scooted over to make room, and she whispered her thanks as she hunkered under the covers, careful to stay on her own side. Marshall rolled so he could surreptitiously peek at her from under his eyelids.

"I know you're looking at me. Your eyelids are twitching." A corner of her mouth curled up with humor.

He grinned in return as he opened his eyes, "Caught. Bad dreams?"

Mary nodded, "And too many shadows. This is better."

"You want me to put some pillows down the middle?" he didn't want to accidentally roll into her and scare her.

She snorted and reached over to smack his arm lightly, "I'm not scared of you, nitwit. And I'm usually the one to invade your side anyway."

They had had occasion to share a bed a number of times over the years, and Marshall normally had to extricate himself from his snoring partner the next day. She roamed while she slept.

"Okay, just don't cripple me if I roll over on you."

"Whatever. Go back to sleep." Mary curled up and closed her eyes, finally feeling drowsy again as the scents of Marshall's bed and his physical presence soothed her and she could relax. She knew he was still watching her, but just ignored him and felt sleep close in.

Marshall watched her face relax as she fell asleep, and then allowed himself to follow.

He woke to his quiet alarm about two hours later and Mary was curled up against his back, whether in seeking warmth or comfort, he didn't know, but he was reluctant to disturb her. Trying to keep his movements smooth and small, he slid out of the bed without waking her and headed off to the shower as he needed to meet Stan at the office by eight.

Marshall came and sat on the edge of the bed as he was ready to leave.

"Mary," he called softly, only able to see a tousled thatch of blonde hair peeking above the covers, "Hey, Mare…Mary." She grunted and burrowed under the covers even more, hair disappearing.

He was going to have to pull out the big guns, and grinned as he tugged down the blankets slightly, "Sweetie pie…" he singsonged teasingly.

"You're just itching for a fat lip, buddy," came the indignant, muffled voice from within the linens and he smiled.

"Good, I've got your attention now."

Mary peeked out from under the edge of the cover and blinked at him, "What? What do you want?"

"I'm heading into the office to work with Stan on some leads for the case and some ammunition against O'Connor. I wanted to make sure you'll be okay here by yourself." His gaze was assessing and he saw her eyes open a little wider with a quick glance around the room, so he added, "I'll stay if you want me to."

Mary looked back at him, and despite a little uncertainty about being alone, was not going to let fear get the better of her, "No. You don't need to. I'll be fine."

Her partner stared at her for a moment more and she knew he sensed her reluctance.

"Marshall, I'll be fine. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay…and call if you need me to come back. I'll leave your phone here on the nightstand. Your weapon and badge are in the front drawer and I'm leaving you the keys to my truck. I'm going to take the SUV."

"Sounds good." Mary gave him a small smile, then rolled over to go back to sleep, wincing with the movement and realizing she may have some limitations.

She heard him move to the door and reluctantly called, "Hey, Marshall?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you leave me the SUV instead? I don't think I'm up to clutch work today," she asked, trying to be vague.

Realizing she would've stiffened up , Marshall agreed quickly, "Absolutely. The keys will be in the drawer too."

Mary mumbled her thanks and allowed herself to fall back into sleep before she got to thinking about the day ahead of her. Marshall watched her for a few more minutes, then sighed as he headed out the door after switching the keys. As much as he hated to leave her, he knew she would need the time alone to regroup and she was perfectly safe at his house.

* * *

***** She just couldn't tell him, and it'll get harder and harder. Please let me know what you think and if you would like more of the story. I'm a slave to the REVIEWS. *****


	2. Revealing

***** Thank you for the reviews and encouragement! There's trouble at the Shannon house, and Mary and Marshall begin a journey. *** **

* * *

**"Where there is no struggle, there is no strength." – Oprah Winfrey**

* * *

_She watched them circle around, and tried to keep them both in her line of sight. Her chest heaved as she fought for air after the last punch, but took some delight in the blood running through the fingers of the man to her left as he held his rebroken nose. Her head butt was effective, though not enough to prevent him from returning a blow. Mary knew she was going to lose this battle, but would never consider going down without a fight. Minimal effort with maximum damage. That was her motto. Try not to wear herself out while slowly whittling away at her opponent's endurance._

_She couldn't even feel her wrists anymore as they had been pulled in so many directions, the chains cutting into the flesh again and again. She was a bit disappointed they had taken the chair away. It was a prop she had been using to her advantage until they wised up. Now she could only use the column she was chained to for leverage or blocking blows. The taller one's hand was surely broken after she had thrown herself sideways during his last attack causing him to hit the wood instead. A satisfying crunch and yowl had been music to her ears._

"_We're going to hurt you bad, bitch," snarled the man with the injured hand. He approached her, careful to stay out of kicking range._

_Mary spat at him and feinted forward, grinning as he scuttled backwards. "You're going to be dead soon, asswipe, and I'll be dancing on your grave."_

_A movement to her left, but Mary wasn't able to turn in time, and the short man's hands grabbed her hair to render her head motionless while the taller man quickly charged and slammed her into the post. His breath was foul and his hands roamed under her shirt and up her abdomen to cover her breasts. She bucked against him, but her head and hands were trapped. Mary tried to spit at him again, but her mouth was dry from hours without moisture._

"_This is nice, isn't it? See…I knew you'd come around," the despicable man licked her cheek and Mary shuddered. She was trying to plan a defense and keep her mind off of his actions. He pinched her hard and she yelled, but felt the grip on her hair loosen and suddenly sagged to throw them off balance._

_His hands were trapped under her shirt, but Mary's hips were free and she twisted to kick out sideways, catching him in the knee. He howled and fell to the ground. The shorter man holding her hair lunged back in to punch her in the kidneys and she gasped while trying to regain her footing, again out of breath and at the disadvantage. Mary knew she wasn't going to be able to keep this up…they were getting closer every time. The short man didn't back off this time and spun her so her face was pressed against the post and ground his hips against her rear end._

"_No more foreplay, sweetie, you've had all the fun you're going to have. It's our turn now," his whisper held such malice that she shivered. Tendrils of fear snaked further into her gut. _

_His hands unzipped her already unbuttoned jeans and Mary put all her effort into struggling against him as he laughed, his partner moving towards her also. Her heart was pounding, and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. "_I'm sorry, Marshall!_" she cried out silently, hoping he'd know she'd done the best she could._

_The chair was back, but this time it wasn't for her benefit._

Mary awoke with a jolt and sat up, crying out wordlessly as the dream slowly loosened its grip. She was soaked with sweat, panting and shaking as she looked fearfully around the room and gripped the sheets. The familiar room gradually became recognizable and the whimpering woman began to slow her breathing as she forced herself to reorient.

"Oh, Jesus," she whispered as she buried her face in her hands, "Oh my God…oh my God…" It could've been a prayer as she chanted the phrase in a rough voice.

She could smell them and feel their hands on her and began to brush at her clothes in an attempt to remove both sensations. Finally, her breaths came more regularly and her hands stilled to ball up as fists in her lap while she continued to tremble. The aches registered now and Mary squeezed her eyes shut with anger knowing the dream was actual memory, not a fanciful construct of her mind. She had to lie back down as the throbbing and stabbing pain became worse with awareness. Her rapid movements jarred tortured wrists, tender ribs and new sutures. Eyes welling with moisture, she tried to tame emotions running rampant, failing miserably as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Never in a million years would she have expected herself to be in this situation. Sure, she knew the statistics, one in four women were raped within their lifetime, but that didn't apply to her. She could disable a man in thirty seconds…make him beg for mercy in sixty. No man would ever get that close to her. No man would ever take that much control.

"Jesus Christ," Mary muttered to the room through her tears, "what am I supposed to do now? How am I going to face everyone when they know…know I can't even defend myself? How do I make this go away?"

The last question was futile, but if there was ever a point in her life that Mary had wished for time to be reversed, this would be it. Even more so than the day her father walked out on her. She knew she would relive the seemingly endless hours in that basement for the rest of her life. Knew the actions of those men would taint any intimacy she experienced for a long time. It gave them power over her still and she hated them for it…hated someone for the first time in her life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her ringing phone, and Mary sniffled and wiped her nose as she squinted at the clock on the nightstand. It was two in the afternoon. Grunting with the effort to snag the device, she pulled her cellphone over to look at the screen. "Crap."

"Mom, hi," Mary answered, trying to speak calmly as she settled herself.

"Mary, sweetie, where are you?" Her mother's voice was tremulous.

"I'm at Marshall's, mom. It was really late when I got out of the police station last night and I didn't want to wake everyone," Mary lied as it was better than telling her mother she had been nauseous with thoughts of returning home.

"Can you come home?" the woman continued, obviously rattled and nervous, "That FBI man's here again, the one that thinks your sister has those drugs, and he has a letter that says he can search your house. I told him I wanted to talk to you first, but he says he doesn't have to wait. They're bringing in all sorts of tools and things. What should I do?"

Jinx's words had gotten faster as she became more upset, her pitch higher, and Mary was trying to sit up as her own anxiety increased.

"Okay, Mom, he has a search warrant, so he doesn't have to wait. Just try to stay out of their way so you don't get arrested for obstruction."

Mary painfully slid out of the bed, grabbing the night table for support as she saw stars. She was going to have to shake this off and get dressed to go home, but she needed to know what she was walking into.

"What's he looking for? Is Brandi there? Did she tell you anything?" Mary's questions were rapid fire as scenarios played through her brain.

"He won't tell me what he's looking for, Mary." Jinx was crying now, and Mary could hear men's voices in the background, "Brandi went to class so I don't think she'll be back for a while. Are you coming home?"

"I'll be there pretty soon, Mom," Mary tried to reassure her mother as she made her way to the bathroom. "Put Agent O'Connor on the phone so I can talk to him."

She heard her mom put the phone down and begin to call for O'Connor. Mary was already sweating with effort and she had not even made it to the bathroom. A male voice came on the line.

"Hello? Inspector Shannon? I have a search warrant for your house."

"What's included?" Mary was all business, no time for niceties.

"Everything and anything, Miss Shannon," he dropped her title in a not-so-subtle power play. "We know Brandi was in possession of the meth scheduled to be delivered to Spanky and we know it's here."

"Listen, fuckwit," Mary's patience was nonexistent to start with and O'Connor's attitude flipped her switch, "You leave my mother alone, you hear me? I'm coming over there and this all better be so fucking legitimate it squeaks. Do you understand?"

"I wouldn't threaten if I were you. I've got a sling just waiting for your ass. You're going down too…it's just a matter of time."

Mary's mind was whirling with disbelief as she shot back, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Inspector. Just don't get too comfortable being able to walk around freely." O'Connor hung up the phone and Mary stood for a few moments to just gape at it before she slowly continued down the hall.

Mary ground mental gears as she tried to sort out the craziness of the phone call and rushed to get dressed and brush her teeth. She quickly took some Advil with a glass of water before she grabbed her weapon and badge on the way out the door.

Getting into the SUV made her dizzy and she had to just grit her teeth to settle into the seat in order to drive. "_Note to self,_" Mary thought humorlessly, "_try to not sit today._"

Finally having a rational thought, Mary picked up the phone and dialed.

**** **** ****

Marshall and Stan had spent the morning digging through volumes of files on Spanky, Chuck and the other accessories in the convoluted case the FBI was putting together as they searched for something to help Mary's case. The tweakers from the hotel room had identified Brandi as the liaison between Spanky and Chuck, but they had both stated she had never actually handed over the drugs. In addition, it seemed as though Brandi's voice was the one on the anonymous 911 call that brought police and child services to the door of the hotel a few hours before the buy was supposed to take place. However, despite enough evidence to paint a picture of poor circumstances and even worse decision making skills onto Mary's sister, the FBI seemed to ignore the other players and focus on her.

The men worked through lunch, and now there were a few stray packets of sweet and sour sauce floating through the periphery of paperwork strewn across the conference table.

"You know, Brandi's not the brightest bulb in the fixture," Marshall drawled, "but it does seem as though reason prevailed in the end and she tried to get out of the situation."

"Be that as it may, she had the drugs in her possession at one time and now they're missing. It's just not a good scenario." Stan was scanning some pictures into the computer system in order to build a better case database for his Inspectors. "I'm worried about O'Connor playing up the fact that the drugs may have been in Mary's house for a period of time. That doesn't look good."

"Dammit, Stan," Marshall swore for the umpteenth time, "They can't really think she was involved in, or even aware of, the situation. The woman was kidnapped and beaten in order to intimidate her sister into handing over the drugs. Does O'Connor really have that small of a brain to think Mary would've suffered through that if she had been involved?"

Stan sent a sideways glance Marshall's way as he described Mary's experience. His Inspector was still ignorant of the extensiveness of his partner's torture in that basement. Gritting his teeth, he just grunted agreement as he feigned extraordinary interest in the now jammed copier.

Marshall's phone buzzed, and he answered it quickly as he glanced at the screen, "Well, good morning, Sunshine."

"It's not morning and it's not good," his partner's voice was tight with anger, "O'Connor's at my house with a search warrant and he's telling me I'm somehow implicated in this clusterfuck. I'm headed over there now."

"Jesus, Mary," Marshall was alarmed and on his feet in an instant, "don't confront him. He's trying to find a reason to drag you into this mess and all he needs is a flimsy excuse to reel you in."

Marshall motioned Stan to follow him as he rushed to his desk to throw on his jacket and grab his keys, quickly giving the older man the situation, "O'Connor's at Mary's stirring shit up. She's headed over there."

"Marshall, he's not going to intimidate my family without having to go through me. There are no drugs in that house, I assure you. This is a fucking witch hunt!" Mary was getting angrier, "Why is my name even being mentioned in any other way than 'victim'? Shit, I know my sister is an idiot, but even she wouldn't abet a drug trafficking ring. We're the peripherals, not the main players. What the hell happened to Spanky?"

Her words came at him fast and furious and Marshall tried to talk her down as he and Stan loaded themselves into Stan's car, "Mary, it's a mess right now. The FBI took custody of Spanky and there's some indication that he's trying to cut a deal by implicating you. It's not going to hold any water, but you've got to play it cool. We're on our way."

"God dammit, Marshall…" she began again and he interrupted her sternly, even startling Stan.

"Mary! Listen to me, you're wound tight and not exactly thinking straight. If you want to ensure jail time for Brandi and a possible investigation into yourself, then go right ahead and lay into O'Connor. But if you want to give Stan and I a chance at straightening this out then you need to wait for me to get there. Are you listening to me?" He was very concerned she was going to do something stupid.

There was silence on the other end and he hoped she was recovering rationality. Finally, his partner spoke in a tightly controlled voice, "I hear you. This is crazy and I don't know what to do."

Sighing, Marshall gentled his tone, "Just wait for me to get there, okay? That way you're in the loop, but not digging any holes."

"Fine." Mary hung up.

"She doesn't need this, Stan," Marshall muttered as he holstered his phone, "She should've been able to stay in bed today and rest and not have to think about any of this for just a little while."

"I couldn't agree more. I'm surprised she's up and about."

Marshall laid his head back on the seat with a heavy sigh, "This is going to be ugly."

Stan could only imagine how ugly this was going to get. He had released Mary's statement this morning, and wondered if the FBI agent had read it yet.

*** *** *** ***

Mary pulled up to house and turned off the SUV as she observed the scene in front of her. There must have been a dozen agents and CSIs moving in and out of her front door. Some were carrying items out of the house, and others were dragging in tarps or unfamiliar tools. Mary had a bad feeling about what was going on in there and readied herself to get out, then remembered her partner's warning words. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the wheel, slowly counting upwards in her head to keep her mind focused while she waited.

Marshall and Stan pulled up beside her a few minutes later, and Marshall moved around to the driver's side door of the SUV to tap on the glass. His partner opened the door and he regarded her.

Her face was pinched and he noted a fine sheen on sweat on her forehead. Her clothes had been pulled on and her hair brushed hastily, he could tell, and her hands shook slightly as she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Mary clenched her jaw and slid out of the SUV, grabbing his arm tightly with a grunt as her legs hit the ground. He gripped her in return, concerned with the obvious pain in her efforts.

"You should be in bed, Mare. You look like hell."

"Don't start with me, Marshall. My mom is in there all by herself and I don't know when Brandi's going to walk into this like a duck in a shooting gallery. I need to be here."

She took a few deep breaths and pushed the discomfort down, straightening slowly and releasing his arm. Marshall tried to keep one arm on her elbow as she started to move towards the house, but she pulled it out of his grip with her jaw set. Her gait was off, he noticed, and it bothered him for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. Stan had come around, greeted Mary, and now Marshall could see him watching her with concern also.

Trotting to the door ahead of his partner, Marshall took one look into the house and turned around to stop her advance, not really knowing what he was going to say as anger began to build in his gut.

"Let Stan and I talk, Mare. Don't say anything to O'Connor. Just go sit with your mom."

Mary didn't like his stance or the set of his jaw, knowing both indicated a higher level of irritation than normal, and she was anxious as she moved through the door behind him.

"_Jesus fucking Christ and all the saints in a bucket,_" Mary swore to herself as she assessed her house with mouth open.

Everywhere she looked there was destruction. Furniture torn apart, shelving taken down, holes in the walls and ceiling. Insulation trailed from the drywall like yellow intestines and she felt just as sick to her stomach as if it had been a human body disemboweled in front of her. Her possessions were discarded onto the floor like trash, picture frames stacked in the corner and drawers from the curio cabinet overturned to sit empty. Curtains were piled on the chair so that window frames could be pried apart, and jars of dried pasta had been emptied onto the kitchen counter.

"This is my house," she whispered in anguish, appalled at the violation of her personal space and possessions.

Marshall shared her torment as he surveyed the destruction with her. A search warrant would never allow for such wanton demolition of personal property, and he wanted to know who was going to pay for this stunt…other than the price his partner was now paying. Her whisper drew his attention, but before he could step over to comfort her, there was a voice approaching.

"Mary! Oh, thank God you're here. Look what they've done!" Jinx launched herself at her daughter to wrap her arms around her and Mary yelped in pain with the force of the contact.

Mary didn't see her mother coming until the last minute, and didn't have time to brace herself. She had to step back quickly to remain upright as her mother's weight landed on her, and pain shot through her with the action. Already shaky legs buckled, and if her partner had slower reflexes she would have landed on the floor in a heap.

Marshall saw the pain flare on Mary's face as she stumbled, and he was reaching for her instantly even as Stan grabbed for Jinx. Mary leaned on him heavily as she caught her breath with occasional moans.

"Shit. I wasn't ready for that," she ground out.

"Oh, Mary, I'm sorry," wailed Jinx, "I didn't know you were hurt that badly. Oh, my sweet baby, look at your poor arms." The woman came over to take one of Mary's bruised wrists in her hands and her daughter straightened to pull it out of her mother's grasp.

"Jesus, Mom, I was chained in a basement for twelve hours. Do you think I just watched TV and ate bonbons?" Jinx just wrung her hands, and Stan and Marshall shared a suffering look over the women's heads.

Mary was feeling nauseous with lack of food and renewed pain, and turned to Stan to get the ball rolling.

"Stan, find O'Connor. This needs to stop and somebody better have called the cleaning crew."

Stan nodded and bellowed into the house for the FBI agent. Marshall told Jinx to go sit back down, then offered the same advice to his slightly swaying partner who was making him nervous. She, of course, had to argue.

"I'm not sitting down to tea with that asshole, Marshall. I'll talk to him standing up."

"You're going to fall over in a few minutes. Did you even eat?"

"No, I didn't fucking eat, idiot. My mom's call woke me up and I just threw on my clothes to come over here," she lied slightly as she didn't want to mention the nightmare.

Marshall rubbed his face with one hand as Mary yanked on his frustration chain. Taking a deep breath, he turned to walk over to the window then back again in order to calm down. Mary watched him.

"It's already been a long day, Marshall, and I've only been up for an hour," she offered in a quieter voice as a means of apology, "I hurt everywhere and my house is being ransacked by the FBI. I just want to get to the bottom of it so I can go back to bed." Her voice broke at the end and Marshall could see her trying to maintain her composure.

Nodding at her to convey understanding, he tried to offer encouragement, "I don't think we can fix the house today, but we're going to get O'Connor off your back. We'll put your mom and sister up in a hotel so they don't have to deal with this either. You'll stay with me, okay?"

He saw acceptance in her eyes, and turned as he heard Stan and O'Connor's voices approach the living room. Stan was talking low and fast and O'Connor was arguing with him.

"Those drugs have to be here somewhere, and we'll find them. The dogs hit on something in the sister's bedroom, so it's only a matter of time," O'Connor's voice was smug.

Mary stepped forward before Marshall could stop her, "My sister wasn't completely clean in the months leading up to this, and you know it. I'm sure the dogs hit on residual from her clothes. There's nothing here."

O'Connor walked up to Mary and held out his hand, "Ah, Inspector Shannon. I finally meet the woman who can spin a more convoluted story than Watergate."

Mary crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to shake the agent's hand. Her eyes narrowed with confusion as she replied, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

The agent chuckled and shook his head, "She's truly charming, isn't she?" He addressed Marshall and the tall man's face took on a dark expression.

"This isn't protocol for a search warrant, O'Connor. I'll be reporting on this when we get back to the office and you'll be doing some clean up work on your record in addition to the house," Marshall warned. He hadn't liked the man from the moment they met, and the agent's insulting behavior towards Mary only increased his desire to maim him.

"Listen, Agent Asshole…" Mary began, but Stan held out his hand to cut her off.

"Agent O'Connor, my Inspector is here to witness the search and assure the safety of her family. She's not here to answer any questions or suffer through your abuse. If you have official business to discuss, we will meet at one of our offices to have the conversation on tape. Am I understood?"

A tight smile from O'Connor as he replied snidely, "Perfectly understood. Anyway, Spanky's just been a font of information. I'm sure I can make a case against Miss Shannon without dragging her in for an interview."

"Spanky is trying to get out of the death penalty, O'Connor, and he's willing to tell you anything he thinks you want to hear." Marshall watched the man with narrowed eyes.

"Well, he paints a convincing picture, and," O'Connor sneered, lowering his voice slightly as he leaned in to Mary, "between Spanky's stories and your statement, I truly appreciate the phrase 'necessity makes for strange bedfellows'."

Mary's hand shot out faster than O'Connor expected as she slapped him across the face hard enough to knock him backwards. He stumbled into a chair and sat down hard on the ruined cushion. His words had caused her vision to fill with a red haze of rage and she had lashed out without thought, only wanting to inflict some sort of pain. She was unaware of anyone else in the room as she stared at the fallen man, breathing shallowly with her hands fisted at her sides.

Marshall was caught off guard by his partner's action, but as he looked at her now, trembling with rage, he knew he had missed something significant. He had never seen her this furious before, and he stepped closer in case she decided to go after O'Connor.

Stan grabbed O'Connor by the collar, his own fury stirred up, and pulled him out of the chair to push him forcefully towards the front door. The agent's face still showed shock.

"You stay away from her, you hear me? Don't let me catch you talking to her again unless it's in an official capacity. If you and your crew aren't out of here in one hour, I'm calling the ADA." Stan shoved O'Connor again and stared at the man's back as he disappeared into the yard.

Mary's eyes hadn't moved from the chair even after Stan emptied it of O'Connor. She felt trapped in the moment, unable to decide whether to walk out or fall down. Fading fury left behind weak legs and nausea, and she swallowed as the tears pricked her eyes. Raising a shaking hand to her mouth, her next action was finally dictated by the bile burning in the back of her throat. She pushed by Marshall and ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Marshall took a few steps to follow her, then turned to his boss to speak in a low voice filled with worry, "What the hell just happened, Stan? I've never seen her like that."

Stan regarded his Inspector, then slid his eyes to gaze at the door to the bathroom. He was trying to tamp down his own anger and Marshall's question had him in a quandary. Hoping the ramifications of his actions wouldn't spur Mary to haunt him, he drew Marshall aside and out of earshot of Mary's mother who was still sitting on the couch quietly crying.

"A lot more went on in that basement than she told us at the station, Marshall," Stan offered, hoping the younger man would be satisfied.

Marshall stilled, the tendrils of unease that manifested during his conversation with his boss the day before intensified in his belly, "What do you mean, 'a lot more'?"

Stan rubbed his head, uncomfortable with going against Mary's wishes, "I think you need to get her to tell you herself."

Marshall was getting angry now, "I think I'd like to avoid another situation like we just had five minutes ago. She's not going to talk to me at all after this, I assure you." He watched his boss deliberate internally and became even more anxious. "Stan," he warned.

"Jesus, Marshall," Stan whispered, as though talking about it quietly made it less distressing, "she was assaulted."

Marshall looked confused, "She told us about that."

Stan stared at him for a moment. "Before the time she told us about. It happened soon after Spanky shot Chuck. Both those trolls attacked her, and it went well beyond 'attempted'."

Marshall blanched as Stan's words registered and he grabbed the back of the chair to support himself. He was hoping he had heard him wrong, hoping this was some sort of twisted farce.

"That can't be right," Marshall hissed back after staring at Stan in shock for a few moments, nearly begging in his tone, "is that what Spanky's saying?"

It was painful to watch Marshall struggle with the knowledge, and Stan didn't know how to make it any better other than to tell him the truth, "No. That's what was in her statement. That's why O'Connor's comment set her off."

Marshall ran his fingers through his hair as he slowly turned in a circle, muttering under his breath. All the signs were there, he thought, she gave him all the clues and he missed it. Missed the untucked shirt and lack of belt when they found her, her solo visit to the ER and refusal to sit down at the police station, her willingness to give a statement to an unknown officer without him there. He had overlooked the flat affect, the defensive and protective postures and the need for a shower at four in the morning. It didn't even strike him as alarming when she asked him not to read her statement. He was an idiot.

"God dammit, Stan," Marshall pleaded, "why didn't she tell me?"

Stan laid his hand on Marshall's arm with his reply, "I can only guess at some of her reasons, but I assure you, she wasn't going to tell any of us if she didn't think she had to. I don't know her as well as you do, but I can only imagine she views this as an embarrassment."

The shock was turning into rage, and Marshall's vision blurred. He needed to get some fresh air before Mary came back out of that bathroom…or O'Connor made another appearance. The images that played through his head were sickening, and he apologized to Stan before swiftly leaving the house.

Walking around the garage to approach the fenced in backyard, Marshall became even angrier when he realized there was no one he could retaliate against. The men from the house were dead, and Spanky was out of his reach, but he needed someone to rip apart with his bare hands. The fence quickly proved a worthy adversary as Marshall kicked it a few times, then proceeded to punch it twice with a howl. Turning to lean his back against it, he bounced his head off the wood while cursing, his face a canvas of pain and his hand throbbing. Thoughts from the night before flashed through his mind…_her panicked yell for him, her hesitation as she stood looking at him on the couch, her complete trust in him as she shared his bed_. The curses turned to mutters, and finally to slow sobs as he pressed his palms into his eyes to try to stop the tears.

"_I left her there alone all day_." Marshall tortured himself with the thought.

Straightening after a few minutes, Marshall was able to slowly compose himself as he knew Mary couldn't see him like this. She would cue off of his reactions, and his anxiety or distress would only cause her get her hackles up. He would not confront her until they were back at his house, knowing she'd refuse to talk about it here, but they would have to deal with this today.

Making sure he appeared put together, Marshall headed back to the house.

Mary had composed herself in the bathroom after getting sick. There was nothing in her stomach, but the thoughts of the implications of O'Connor's words caused her body to try to purge anything she had left. Her statement was out there, she knew, and she suspected Stan had read it by the way he reacted to the agent's comment also. A part of her hoped he would tell Marshall. It would be easier that way…out in the open already. It would be the coward's way out, but Mary didn't have much bravery left at this point. Her body ravaged and her home destroyed, the prospect of fighting her way through false accusations and innuendos just sucked the strength out of her.

She washed her face with cold water then stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like death warmed over and felt even worse. If she didn't go back to Marshall's now, they would have to carry her out of here. Reluctantly, she opened the door to move back into the front room.

Stan and her mother were talking, but Marshall was nowhere to be seen. Mary had a moment of panic that he had left when Stan addressed her.

"Marshall went outside to talk to some of the other agents. He'll be back in a few. Are you okay?"

"No." Mary's answer was rough and her posture radiated fatigue. Stan came over to stand by her and she continued, "Can you take my mom to a hotel? Get a room for a couple of days with two beds. She and my sister will need a place to stay until this gets cleaned up."

Stan tried to reassure her that her family would be fine, "I'll take care of it. I'll let you know where they are. Are you going to stay with Marshall?"

"I guess so. I can't stay here and I don't want to go to a hotel."

"Mary…" Stan began, reaching out to touch her arm. She leaned away from him and he dropped his arm back to his side.

"Not right now, Stan. Another time." A quick glance at him, then she focused back on the table in front of her.

Marshall came back through the door and stopped as he saw his partner standing there, arms crossed, wanting to gather her up but knowing it would be exactly the wrong thing to do. She looked up and their eyes met, the silent communication that laced their partnership together serving to speak volumes.

Mary knew he knew, and a small part of her was relieved. A portion of the burden could be carried by another for a while, and her breath came a little easier with the lightened load.

"Mom, go with Stan. Take enough clothes for a week, and take some for Brandi too. I'll call you later." Mary walked over to Marshall as Stan quelled Jinx's protests.

"Ready to go home, Mare?" her partner asked softly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on her upper arm.

Mary allowed his contact with her reply, "Only if you're cooking dinner. I'm starving."

"Whatever you need."

Mary let him steer her out of the house and Marshall kept a grip on her arm as they walked to the SUV. He helped her into the passenger seat, and Mary settled as comfortably as she could while belting in. By the time Marshall climbed into his seat, she had turned slightly to rest her head against the window and had her eyes closed…hiding. Marshall started the car with his jaw set and began the uncomfortably silent journey home.

* * *

***** Poor Marshall...poor Mary...this isn't going to be easy. And O'Connor is truly an asshole. Please keep me in REVIEWS!! *****


	3. Telling

***** Marshall sticks to his guns, and Mary's resolve is worn down. He knows just how to get to her, thank goodness *****

* * *

_**"The dance of battle is always played to the same impatient rhythm. What begins in a surge of violent motion is always reduced to the perfectly still."**_** - Sun Tzu**

* * *

The SUV pulled into Marshall's driveway and he let it idle for a minute before turning the key. Silence descended in the cab, and Marshall left his hands on the steering wheel as he tilted his head and shifted his eyes to regard his deceptively quiet partner.

"How long are you going to pretend you're asleep?" he asked slowly.

"_As long as I have to in order to keep this conversation from happening?_" Mary thought morosely as her forehead remained against the cool window. A few more breaths before she answered.

"What do you want me to say?" she replied, voice quiet and rough.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Simple, honest and straight to the point.

Mary's mind paraded reason after reason before her, each carrying no more legitimacy than the last. Because she needed more time, because she couldn't find the right words, because she was embarrassed, because, because…because. Rolling her head back onto the seat, she stared at the roof and listened to him breathe.

Marshall pursed his lips as he stared through the windshield. He didn't know if she was ignoring him or thinking up an excuse, but the searing anger from earlier had had time to simmer and now he felt confused and hurt.

"Didn't you think I should know about this?" His voice low and intense, "You don't tell me, you don't want me to read your statement…how long did you think it would be before I found out?"

"It shouldn't even be anyone's goddamn business!" Mary spat out, on the defensive now, "I only gave the statement because it's required. Otherwise, nobody would know."

He turned to look at her in confusion, "What good would that do you? How would anyone be able to help you then?"

"Help me do what?" Mary's brow was furrowed as she turned her head to see him, "Think about it? Talk about it? Relive it over and over again?" her voice was raised now as emotions began to bubble to the surface.

"Jesus, Marshall, I just want to move on. It's done, it's over. I got my ass kicked. Can we just forget about it now?"

There it was, Marshall realized. Watching her ramp up her defenses, he heard the words come out of her mouth that summed up the whole situation. _I got my ass kicked. _

"Is that why you didn't tell me? Because you came out on the losing end of the battle?" He tried to keep his voice calm and steady. Keep her talking.

"Yes!...No…Fuck, I don't know!" Mary threw her hands up, then reached over to unbuckle her seat belt as her own confusion grew while her eyes pricked with tears, "I don't want to have this conversation. I'm hungry and I'm tired and I'm going inside."

She threw open the door and levered out of the car, sucking in her breath with discomfort. Legs on the ground now, Mary tried to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other and ignore the multitude of aches and pains that threatened to derail her efforts. She felt worse than yesterday and her already strung out nerves just couldn't take the added stimulus of potential humiliation in front of her partner. She rounded the front of the SUV to find him standing in her path.

"Move," she uttered the soft command while staring at his chest.

Marshall knew he was taking his life in his hands, but when he saw the pain etched into her face and the tightness of her movements, all he wanted to do was comfort her. He knew she was wound up tight and on the edge of an emotional rollercoaster, but this was not an issue he could let her sweep under the rug. It would turn into the elephant in the room, ultimately weighing them both down until their partnership, and their friendship, suffered.

"We have to talk about this, Mare. It'll tear us up otherwise."

Mary pushed at him and Marshall moved aside, but followed right next to her as she limped up the sidewalk.

"You're my partner and my best friend," he was talking as he leaned forward slightly to try to see her face, "and I care about you…hell, I even try to take care of you. I can't sit back and let you go through this on your own, can't watch you suffer like this and not want to help you."

She stepped up onto the porch awkwardly then glared at him from under her lashes, "I'm not suffering, you moron."

"No?" he asked, concerned, "What I can see of you is black and blue and you can barely move. I can only imagine the injuries I can't see, and if thinking about those makes **me** sick to my stomach, then it has to be ten times worse for you. I've never seen you as angry as you were today, and I've never seen you lash out like that before."

He was right, Mary knew, but she did not want to allow him to comfort her. It would only bring her to her knees, and she was desperately clinging to tattered shreds of self respect.

"Open the damn door, Marshall," she demanded.

His eyes flashed at her, but he keyed the door and swung it open so she could enter the house. There were two options before him: let her retreat, or continue to pick and prod at the small cracks in the defensive walls to see if he could find a way in. He decided he couldn't watch her like this anymore.

"When were you going to tell me?" Picking.

Mary had walked into the kitchen and was now reaching into the cabinet to pull down the bottle of whiskey and grab a glass. She set them down on the counter, hard, and unscrewed the cap to pour a healthy dose of the amber liquid into the tumbler.

"Jesus, Marshall, I can't believe you're pushing me on this."

"I know what you were planning. You would have created excuse after excuse for not telling me in your own mind, and soon you'd have the whole event pushed down into some recess of your psyche where all it would do is fester, only to rear its ugly head again and again to make your life miserable." He was watching her, noticing the tremor in her hands as she handled the bottle and glass.

"I left you here alone today. I never would've done that if I had known what happened. I would've stayed, made sure you had what you needed." He was still aggravated at himself for that lapse.

She tossed a frustrated sigh his way as she leaned against the counter with the glass in her hand, "I don't need a goddamn babysitter, and I certainly don't need somebody telling me what the right and wrong reactions are in this situation. I've been beat up before…it's no different." The words were sheer bravado. She knew it. He knew it.

"Really?" Marshall tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, "Then why is it such a big secret?"

Mary tossed back the whiskey and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. The burn was welcome and she hoped the alcohol would dull her senses enough to make her partner's words less painful. He was right. She would've found a reason not to tell him everyday unless she had been forced to. A reason to continue to feel like she had somehow failed…failed him. She didn't want anyone to know she could be that vulnerable. Didn't want people to think of her stripped and abused. It was dark and twisted and made no sense. She poured two more fingers and Marshall deftly reached out to grab the glass before she picked it up again. It pissed her off.

"Dammit, asshole, I can barely think about it much less talk about it, and I certainly don't want to think about how people are going to look at me…how you're going to look at me, once the shit hits the fan. Why wouldn't I want to keep it under wraps?"

Marshall downed the glass and slid the empty across the counter back at her. Now he was getting somewhere. Mary refilled.

"Why would I look at you any differently, other than to be grateful that you're alive? Surely you give me more credit than that?" His accusatory tone carried the hurt.

Mary tossed back another shot and slammed the glass back down on the counter, anger written on her face.

"For Chrissake, I was overpowered, chained in a basement and eventually stripped half naked while people used me for their amusement. What the hell does that say about me? Where the hell did I go wrong? What enormous lapse in judgment occurred in order for me to find myself in that situation?" Her stare held the challenge of an answer.

Marshall was starting to understand her doubts were directed at herself, not at him. He poured himself another drink as he stood across the counter from her and tried to reassure her, "Mary, you didn't do anything wrong. You did everything you could, I'm sure."

"Are you? Because I'm not," her words were clipped as she pushed away from the counter to slowly pace the kitchen. The events were flickering through her mind like a badly placed slideshow and Mary was trying to order the images in such a way that she won…failing each time, but trying again and again.

"I keep thinking I missed something. Some clue or opportunity that slipped through my fingers. Something everyone else would've figured out, and I'm an idiot not to have seen it." She held her hands in front of her as if she was looking at a missing item in her grasp, shaking her head.

"I tried to reason with them, talk them down, you know? But once they knew I was a marshal…" she trailed off with a frustrated sigh, "That just set them off."

"Fucking O'Connor," Marshall hissed under his breath. Mary didn't seem to hear him. He was going to make sure the FBI agent not only knew of the error of his ways, but took some sort of physical reminder back to Jersey with him. Preferably something in black and blue. His violent musings were cut short as his partner spoke again.

"I knew what was going happen…knew it was coming, and I tried everything I could think of to hold them off." Mary had her hands in her hair now as her pacing and speech increased their rhythm, "They thought my efforts were funny for a little while, until I got a hold of one of them and broke his fucking nose. They didn't expect me to be quite so agile while chained up." She tossed Marshall a tight smile without humor.

"_She's always been dangerous at close range_," Marshall thought as he watched her pace, his own face showing anger now.

As she traveled back and forth, Mary felt the whiskey warming her veins, the effects swift due to the lack of food. It loosened her tongue and she let the words and anger flow, almost forgetting her partner was in the room.

"The stupid fucks figured it out after a while. Ranged me and found my blindspots. Then they came in one at a time until they wore me down. Jesus…if I could've just taken one out the other one would've tucked tail and run. I just needed one!" She yelled out the word and clenched her fists in front of her, then shifted her focus to her arms as she rubbed one wrist slowly.

"I'm surprised I didn't break my own wrists," she muttered quietly, lost in thought for a moment.

Marshall eyed the whiskey bottle, now convinced there wasn't enough of the amber liquid left to support him through the evening. The picture of desperation his partner painted made his chest hurt and his own hands fisted on the counter.

"It wasn't a fair fight, Mary," his voice was rough, "there was no way to win."

Mary continued to stand still and stare at her own hands, her partner's words finally sinking in, and she was forced to consider that there was no more that she could've done. She remembered the burning fatigue in her arms and body as she twisted and turned to ward off blows and kick out with her own attacks.

"I just couldn't keep my legs under me after a while. I couldn't block the punches with my arms stuck in the chains and they knew just how to hit to make you suck wind." Mary rested her hands on the table and stared blankly down at the surface, "Maybe if I could've lasted for ten more minutes they would've given up. I don't know."

Marshall rubbed his face as images of his trapped partner being stalked by the two men caused bile to rise in his throat, "They wouldn't have given up, Mare. Please don't torture yourself like this."

Her anger was beginning to fade with fatigue, and the alcohol was making her brain fuzzy. Her partner was right, her rational brain was cajoling her, she had no chance of outlasting them. They would have kept beating her until she had succumbed. The disjointed images floated through her mind more slowly and she hoarsely whispered a commentary as they drifted away.

"They took turns, you know. I just kept fighting them, so one would have to hold me still in order for the other to…" her voice caught and she paused for a moment, finally finishing in a rushed whisper, "They took their time."

He had seen the strength ebb out of her as she stood rooted in place, shoulders slumping and a slight sway to her stance while the words tumbled out. The details she revealed ripped at him, appalling and sickening, and he could no longer remain distant. Careful not to startle her, Marshall placed himself within reach and hoped she would accept his invitation.

"Hey," he called softly, standing a pace in front of her.

Mary allowed her gaze to slowly travel up to his face, and his eyes didn't hold pity or blame, just the same offer of friendship and acceptance she always saw. Nothing had changed, and some of the pain abated. She stepped forward to bump into him, letting her forehead fall onto his shoulder with a grunt that may have faded into a quiet whimper.

His hands grasped her arms, gently but firmly, and Marshall waited to see if she would stiffen or pull away. She was silent, and he slowly slid his arms around her back to shift her weight and draw her to him, eventually resting his cheek against her hair as she settled fully into his embrace. Even though she wasn't fighting him, he could feel the tension in her body and began to rub a slow circle on her back with one hand. He would've given her anything right then.

"I don't know how you did it…kept fighting until we got down there. You have a strength that I don't know if I possess, and I think you're one of the bravest people I know. I could never be anything but proud to stand beside you."

The whispered words mingled with the smell of his aftershave and the whiskey, and Mary put her efforts into consciously relaxing into the warm safety of her partner's embrace. The basement slowly faded away as the sensations of his rough jacket against her face and gentle hands on her back anchored her into the present. She had been this close to him many times, but the way he held her now was different than any other. Carefully. Tenderly.

The act of kindness triggered a wave of emotion, and Mary shakily sighed into his shoulder as her hands burrowed under his jacket to grip his shirt around his back. She tried to stop the tears from gathering, but Marshall pulled her a little closer, whispering, "It's okay," and the dam broke.

Her sobs became his tears, and the partners stood wrapped together to weather the storm.

* * *

***** Over one hurdle...so many more to go. Mary needs some rest, desperately. Thank you for all your REVIEWS!!...you are the best :) *****


	4. Caring

***** It's time for them to just take care of each other for a little while. Both haunted by regret and doubt. A chapter to just breathe. *****

* * *

**_The calm before the storm : a quiet or peaceful period before a period during which there is great activity, argument or unpleasantness_**

* * *

Mary didn't know how long she had cried into Marshall's shoulder, but his arms never loosened and his whispered assurances never ceased for the duration. She knew his tears were also falling as she could feel the occasional hitch in his breath and hear his sniffles. She hadn't intended to cause her partner pain, but the compassion demonstrated by the shared tears was comforting nonetheless.

It was time to pull herself together, Mary decided, knowing this release had lightened the burden enough to now plow forward with renewed determination, no longer weighed down by doubts about her partner's reaction. She consciously slowed her breaths and swallowed further sobs, concentrating on the sounds of Marshall's kitchen to reel her back into the present. The hum of the fridge, tick of the wall clock and occasional creak of the floor boards underneath them as Marshall shifted to keep them balanced. It was then that Mary realized how heavily she was leaning on him, and she settled her weight completely back onto her own two feet.

Her sobs had been heart wrenching, shaking her from head to toe, and he had tried to hold her as tightly as possible in order to absorb as much of her pain as he could. She hadn't said a single word, just cried while clinging to him, and he was thankful for her trust. Thankful that he could provide this comfort that she so desperately needed and would not seek from anyone else. Marshall wanted to keep her in his arms, but knew this woman would not show weakness for long and would need to climb back into her armor in order to survive. As if she read his mind, Marshall felt Mary shift away from him and loosen her grip.

"You all right?" he asked quietly.

"I've made a mess of your jacket," Mary noted as she lifted her head, grimacing.

Marshall grinned, "That's why I pay Mr. Kwon the big bucks. He's a wizard with the stains I bring in, and he never asks any questions."

He made the joke as he understood Mary's need to calm down and move back toward normal.

Mary smiled weakly with a quick glance at him before directing her gaze downward and ducking her head while tucking a few loose pieces of her hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. Marshall slid his hands back to her arms and steadied her on her feet as she wobbled slightly.

"You don't look too good there, partner," Marshall observed, concerned.

She didn't feel too good, as hunger, fatigue and injury all combined to sap her strength and tax her endurance.

"I'm going to have to skip the fine dining experience tonight. Got anything I can eat while lying down?"

"Not to worry. Chef Marshall will not disappoint," he assured her with a grin, then turned serious again as she grunted while shifting her weight.

"Come on, let's get you over to the couch. You're done for the night."

Mary would've protested his assistance if she had the energy, but even she knew when enough was enough. Her partner walked her over to the couch with his arm around her waist and let her hold on to him as she slowly and painfully manuevered herself into a reclining position. Mary blew out a slow breath while squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to will her body to relax.

Marshall felt every grimace, grunt and moan as if it were a knife shoved into his gut. He helped her get comfortable as best he could, coaxing her to place some strategic pillows to hopefully relieve some of the aches. Taking off her tennis shoes, he placed a blanket over her and sat carefully on the edge of the cushions in front of her.

"I'm giving you another pain pill with dinner. You can't rest like this."

Mary just nodded in agreement, eyes still closed, not trusting herself to be able to look at him without suffering another lapse in emotional control at this point. Her partner smoothed some hair away from her face and tucked the blanket a little more securely around her shoulders. She felt him shift his weight, and then he placed a light kiss on her temple before rising to head back into the kitchen.

For Mary, the gesture carried affection, acceptance and respect, and she knew she had done the right thing by telling him. She had to quietly wipe away a few more tears of gratitude provoked by his action, but her soul was definitely lighter. No longer having to debate the issue with herself, she could turn her efforts towards some physical healing and again tried to relax and get some rest while her partner prepared some food.

Marshall decided to grill some burgers as being outside would give him more of a chance to take out his anger on the utensils without his partner knowing about it. It had taken an iron force of will to calmly settle Mary onto the couch and patiently wait for her to get comfortable while his own emotions were screaming for release. Every bruise he could see on her, every catch in her step and exclamation of pain was a personal affront, and if he wasn't here taking care of her, he would be hunting O'Connor down for a private lesson in interrogation techniques. The FBI agent had no idea he had drawn the stand-in straw for Marshall's revenge, being the only living player in this saga within reach and not under Mary's protection.

The burgers got an extra dose of tenderizing as he threw them onto the grill with vigor, tamping them down with a growl. Marshall stood back from the grill with a deep breath, rolling his head to release some tension in his neck and shoulders. He needed to shelve this for a while until he had time to think without worrying about his partner. They'd only feed off each other's stress right now, and he definitely wanted her to have the chance to finally rest, the six hours of sleep she had this morning not nearly enough recovery time.

Gathering condiments and pulling some French fries out of the oven, Marshall set up the food and carried it into the family room. Mary was asleep, he could tell by her relaxed face, and he was momentarily loathe to wake her but then remembered she hadn't eaten in over twenty four hours. He took her plate and waved it under her nose while calling her name.

Mary's eyes opened slowly as the mouth watering smell of Marshall's special hamburger seasoning filled her nose.

"You are a god," she croaked as she levered herself up and reached for the plate. Her eyes fell on Marshall's scraped and slightly swollen knuckles.

"What did you do to your hand? It wasn't like that yesterday." She looked at him suspiciously, "You didn't punch O'Connor, did you?"

"Not yet," he drawled, avoiding her eyes and taking a big bite of his burger.

She narrowed her eyes at him as she swirled a fry in her ketchup. "Don't take this on, Cowboy. I'm pretty sure Stan would frown on more than one of us being in trouble with the law at any point in time, and I've already racked up assault charges, guaranteed."

"If O'Connor pulls another stunt like he did today, your assault charges will pale by comparison." Marshall gave her a meaningful look.

She sighed and shook her head, "He's a prick, nothing more. There's something hinky about his crusade against my sister."

"Well, other than Spanky and the tweakers from the hotel, Brandi** is** the only live body left to lay the blame on for the blown deal and missing merchandise." He watched her carefully for signs of distress, but she seemed to just be thinking.

Mary really didn't want to think about her sister as an accessory to anything other than poor fashion choices, but her partner was right. Brandi's role in this fiasco was going to be dissected a million ways to yesterday, and she should probably start trying to think about this like a marshal and not a big sister.

"We really need to talk to Squish about those drugs. I'm not entirely convinced she doesn't know where they are," Mary reluctantly offered, "She had them, or thought she had them, when Spanky called her."

Marshall put his burger down and looked at her hard, "What do you mean, 'when Spanky called her'?"

Mary looked up at him in surprise, "After they dragged Chuck downstairs. Didn't she tell anyone?"

"Why don't you fill me in?"

Mary squinted with recall, "They threw Chuckles down next to my chair, he saw me and spilled the beans that I was the wrong sister. Asshole. So Spanky called Brandi and told her he had us and wanted the drugs. I don't know what she said, probably tried to cry her way out of a tight spot." Mary took a few breaths before continuing in a monotone, trying not to stir up emotions, "She must've been dicking around, because Spanky suddenly drew on us and told her to make a choice…me or Chuck."

Marshall saw Mary's jaw clench and she dipped her chin to regard her plate of food, speech momentarily forgotten. He waited.

"She couldn't decide, apparently, and I guess I just got lucky when he chose to blow Chuck's head off instead of mine," the words were low and angry as she abused a fry.

Marshall was appalled. Mary's own sister, the woman who his partner would protect with her life, had carelessly left the fate of her older sister in the hands of a cranked up psychopath because she couldn't see fit to take the blame for her own mess.

"You're telling me Brandi knew where you were all that time and she didn't tell us?" Marshall was livid, and Mary could see the hardness in his eyes.

"No, I don't think she knew where I was," she said cautiously, wanting to talk her partner down, "she would've told you that. She just knew Spanky had us…me. She was supposed to meet him with the drugs but apparently she never showed. Spanky was not amused." Mary concentrated on her burger, not wanting to think through the events any further at this point.

"Well this just gets better and better," Marshall mumbled darkly as he got up to get more fries. It was an excuse to channel anger into movement instead of words.

Mary just turned her mind to enjoying the taste of the burger and tried not to let herself be affected by her partner's rising anger. Tried not to think of how Brandi would react to an angry Marshall Mann. Her sister had never seen Marshall worked up, and Mary suspected Brandi would likely wet herself if subjected to his fury. She had to make sure she was with her sister when the questioning occurred in order to run interference.

"Why don't we go talk to her tomorrow at the hotel?" she suggested as Marshall sat back down in the recliner.

"Do you really think you'll be up for traipsing around town tomorrow?"

"I'm not even going to discuss that with you. If you or Stan think I'm going to sit back and watch you two do all the work…" she let the sentence hang with obvious displeasure.

Marshall rolled his eyes when she wasn't looking. "Your presence will only be inflammatory during this investigation, Mare, but," he held up a finger in her direction as she opened her mouth to protest, "I already told Stan you'd be with me. Easier to keep you out of trouble if I can lay eyes on you."

"Nice," she sneered at him with a chin toss, secretly pleased by his preemptive strike.

"And yes," he continued as she went back to eating, "we can go by the hotel to talk to your sister tomorrow. Now eat and take the meds. It's an early bedtime for you, young lady."

Mary just gave him a long suffering look and sigh, turned on the TV and did exactly what he told her to.

*** *** *** ***

Marshall watched the lights of the far away aircraft silently cut a path through the stars as he slowly turned the tumbler in his fingers. The neighborhood was quiet at this early morning hour, and only the distant hoot of an owl broke the stillness. He sat outside in one of the deck chairs, toes curled into the cool grass and whiskey bottle on the table next to him, trying to banish the remnants of the nightmare and redirect his dark thoughts.

Sleep had been elusive, even after he was sure Mary was comfortable and tucked in for the night. He had tossed and turned with attempts at slumber, finally falling into fitful dreams that woke him with his own yell. Luckily, he didn't hear any stirring from the guest room, so his partner had slept on. Deciding that fresh air and aged alcohol was the remedy for chasing away the cobwebs, Marshall had quietly retreated to the back patio to think.

He could still hear Mary's cries echoing in his mind from his nightmare. She had been calling for him, yelling at him to hurry, but he couldn't find her. There had been walls everywhere, forming hallways that led nowhere, and her screams had become more and more frantic while he ran. He began to yell back at her, asking her where to go, but she couldn't seem to hear him. Then there had been the sudden silence, and that's when his body jerked upwards in the bed as he awakened. The silence was more terrifying that her cries. The silence that meant she was gone.

He tossed back the alcohol and tipped the bottle over the glass for a refill, fingers shaking slightly as he again broke out in a sweat despite the cool, night air. Hours had been spent in mental gymnastics the night they had found her as Marshall had re-examined half remembered evidence for the clues he was sure he had missed. Replaying conversations, reconfiguring timelines and motives, reconnecting dots that had nothing to do with each other in the first place. Trying to make it all add up to finding her before the situation had spiraled out of control. Now he was at it again, but this time the regrets and self recriminations were wrapped with razor wire and every twist and turn was exquisitely painful.

Why hadn't he seen that license plate number on her notepad right away? Why hadn't he demanded to talk to Brandi right then to find out more about Chuck? Why had he tolerated the FBI dragging their feet?

He let his head fall back onto the chair with a curse, "Fuck."

The rational brain chastised him. Telling him it was easy to see all the connections now, but there was no way to have solved the problem any more quickly than they had originally. There was no way to have gotten to Mary even an hour earlier, much less when she truly needed him. He had dotted all the i's and crossed all the t's, his brain said reassuringly, and his best efforts were put into every action.

The irrational brain sneered and pulled him back into the muck. It led him back into that darkened hellhole and replayed vicious imaginings of his partner's assault over and over to remind him of how he had failed. He could further torture himself by wondering if she had called for him, expected him to come to her aid and found herself bereft of help when she most desperately needed it.

That was the thought that made his stomach burn, and Marshall leaned forward, elbows on knees, to place his head in his hands. She had fended for herself the entire goddamn time. Had managed to save herself in the end, and would've likely escaped had they not shown up when they did. The woman was no less deadly with a spade that she was with a firearm. She had said she worried what he would think about her now, he remembered, and chuckled humorlessly. He couldn't imagine what she thought about **him**.

A partner that not only couldn't save her from torture and humiliation, but didn't even recognize the pain for what it was. Unable to even defend her today when her honor was assassinated by O'Connor…because he didn't know. And now he was even prevented from avenging her; rendered impotent by bureaucracy and circumstance.

He hissed in anger, sitting up to pour another drink only to realize the bottle was empty. It a fit of pique, Marshall flung it against the fence, only slightly satisfied as it shattered.

"I'd come out there, but I see you have a few more projectiles within reach and I know you have good aim," the quiet voice came from the direction of the sliding door.

Marshall jumped, then turned in his chair to regard Mary standing in the shadow of the house.

"Mary. What are you doing up? Are you okay?" He knew the breaking glass hadn't woken her and now worried about nightmares.

"I think that's a better question for you," she replied as she padded across the patio to grab another chair and pull it over next to his, "Unless you've taken to abusing your property in the middle of the night."

Mary had awoken tangled in the blankets and spent a good couple of minutes in confused terror as she fought against them. Finally recognizing Marshall's guest room, she calmed her nerves and used the bathroom while debating with herself about sleeping in Marshall's bed again. Not wanting to give in to fear, but needing some small measure of comfort, she decided to just look in on him. Confused and slightly alarmed at his absence, Mary began to search for her partner. The open sliding door finally caught her attention, and she watched him sit and brood for a few minutes before he lobbed the bottle against the fence.

As Marshall watched Mary carefully ease herself into the other chair, all his previous doubts came rushing back. He hated seeing her move like that…hated knowing why she did. He clenched his fists in his lap and just sat back to gaze at the stars as he stewed.

"I think you're going to have to take some of your own advice, partner," Mary said softly, "and don't torture yourself like this."

"I should've been there sooner," his faint reply followed a few minutes of silence, and Mary's chest hurt for him.

He was slumped in the chair, staring at the sky, and Mary reached over to take one of his hands in hers.

"You got there right when I needed you to, and I'm alive to prove it."

He turned her hand over and lightly sandwiched it between both of his, "No. No, I should've been there long before that…before they got their hands on you."

Mary knew there was nothing she could say that would make the pain lessen. She struggled with it also. The self doubt and regret. Wishing you could do something to turn back the hands of time. She waited.

"It's killing me to know they got away with it," he growled.

"They didn't. They're dead, and we both got to mete that justice out."

"They should've suffered. Should've suffered for a long time." Marshall now stared at their hands, not really seeing them as his thoughts turned dark.

"I want to be able to make this right for you somehow, Mare. I want you to know that I would've killed them slowly with my bare hands for what they did. Something to make up for not being there," his voice caught and he looked away from her to stare out into the yard.

Mary remembered his whispered words from earlier as he had comforted her in the kitchen. Remembered his reassurance and encouragement as she fell apart in his arms, and felt tears well up as her partner's pain was now evident. She could offer him no less than he had given to her. Mary rose from the chair to stand next to him and lay her other hand on his head, gently pulling him over to rest against her hip. He hesitated, then allowed himself to lean into her.

"You don't have to make up for anything, Marshall," she said the words slowly and gently while stroking his hair, "I know what you would've done…what you still would do if you could. And you're here now, and that's what really matters."

Marshall swallowed as he struggled to keep himself in control, Mary's words and actions causing emotions to rush to the surface. Her caress was more than he deserved, but the comfort was needed and he breathed deeply of her scent. Thoughts of O'Connor and Spanky tumbled through his head and he knew he would not be able to tolerate any further attacks on his partner. He didn't want them to talk to her or touch her and the surge of protectiveness was overwhelming.

"I need to keep you close to me for a while. Keep you safe."

A warm feeling suffused her unexpectedly, and Mary looked down at him with a small smile. "Nothing's going to happen to me, nitwit. All parties are accounted for."

Marshall sat back so he could look up at her, her fingers still tangled in his hair. His face was serious.

"Mary, please."

The simple statement was laden with emotion, and Mary sobered as she realized the seriousness of his request.

"Okay," she murmured as she nodded, then gave a crooked grin, "Guess I'll stick around for a while, then."

Marshall took a deep breath and smiled his thanks, then realized the night had become chilly and they were both outside in their pajamas and bare feet. He released her hand and stood to grab the glass then turned to place his hand on her back to guide her back inside.

"Let's see if either of us can get some uninterrupted sleep, shall we?"

Mary shook her head with a wry grin, "Somehow, I think that's a tall order."

They entered the house, and as Marshall shut the sliding door, Mary stared down the dark hallway to the guest room with uncertainty on her face. The same shadows would be there and the same dreams would recur, she was sure. Every time she closed her eyes she would see their faces, and Mary knew she'd lay awake in that bed until morning. Thinking.

Marshall touched her shoulder and she startled with a small gasp. He stepped back immediately and looked at her with concern as she apologized, then offered her another option.

"Why don't you take my bed and I'll sleep in the guest room? You were able to sleep pretty well in there this morning."

"I'm not going to evict you from your bed, Marshall. That's ridiculous," she argued.

He saw her cross her arms and shift her eyes sideways and he knew she wasn't going to ask for what she really wanted.

"Well, if you promise not to put your cold feet on me, I'll let you share my bed," he teased and saw her try to hide a smile.

"Deal."

Mary swore to herself this was the last night she would use her partner as a security blanket. She had to get herself back on her own two feet. That, and if Stan ever found out they were sharing a bed all hell would break loose. That made her chuckle as she walked behind Marshall to the bedroom.

"What?" he asked.

"Just thinking of our illustrious leader's take on our sleeping arrangements."

Marshall snorted, "It would just confirm his suspicions, I'm sure."

"Seriously?" Mary exclaimed as she crawled into her side of the bed and lay on her back staring at the ceiling, "He thinks we're sleeping together?"

"Mare, **everyone** thinks we're sleeping together," Marshall drawled as he looked over at her from his side of the bed.

She scrunched her face in confusion, "Hmph. I guess I should pay more attention to those things. I didn't know that. Interesting."

He watched her think about it and shook his head in disbelief. Sighing, Marshall allowed himself to relax, his partner's steady breathing a comfort. She had relieved some of his doubts, but he had no illusions that the road to recovery for either of them would be smooth. He would have a hard time letting her go, and she was going to have a harder time trusting again. He remembered the skittishness from a few minutes ago.

"Are you going to be worried about me getting too close?" he asked quietly.

Mary had been drifting off, and his question confused her, "What are you talking about?"

"You were okay with being next to me last night, but you're jumpier today and I didn't know if it was going to scare you if we bump into each other." He probably should've thought about that before extending the invitation.

In response, Mary rolled to scoot over to his side and ducked under his arm to put her head on his chest. "You're an idiot."

Marshall smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, "So I've been told."

* * *

***** Don't get used to the happy...it's only a brief reprieve. Reality returns with the sunrise, as it usually does. Please keep pushing that big 'ole button of REVIEWS!!! *****


	5. Remembering

***** Time to get to work on the case, but Mary is definitely not at top form. Marshall worries and Brandi whines. Off we go. *****

* * *

_"As memory may be a paradise from which we cannot be driven,_

_It may also be a hell from which we cannot escape."_

_-- John Lancaster Spaulding_

* * *

Marshall watched his partner discreetly as he drove them to the hotel to meet with Brandi. They had slept soundly through the remainder of the night, their proximity a possible reason the nightmares were kept at bay, but Mary had been quiet this morning. Contemplative and slightly distracted. She had called her sister shortly after breakfast to tell her they would be over within the hour, and Marshall was irritated by the apparent argument that ensued. In his opinion, Brandi had no room to argue anything at this point.

Mary had hung up on her sister with a glare at the phone, and had hardly said two words to him since then. She now sat with her arms crossed, staring out the side window, silent.

"So, do you want me to do the talking, or do you think she'll clam up?" He decided to initiate some sort of conversation as her uncharacteristic stillness was starting to get to him.

Nothing. She didn't even seem to know he was there.

"Mary? You okay?" Marshall reached over to gently squeeze her shoulder.

Mary had just felt distracted this morning. Not really able to focus on the tasks at hand, and her mind kept wandering back to getting jumped in that back lot. She didn't know why that scene was programmed into her mental DVR, but it seemed to loop endlessly unless she concentrated on something else. The conversation with her sister certainly qualified.

"_Mary, do we have to talk about this today? I have an exam at three and I really need to study this morning," Brandi whined._

"_Jesus, Brandi, it's an ongoing investigation and you're a suspect. People are dead. Do you think the FBI will give a fuck about your class schedule? You're lucky you weren't home yesterday when they showed up." Mary couldn't believe her sister's blasé attitude._

"_I can't believe they went through my things!" Brandi now exclaimed, indignant, "I told them I didn't have the drugs anymore. Don't they need one of those warrant thingies to ruin people's stuff?"_

"_Don't you get it, Squish? They're trying to pin this on you! Get it through your head that if they can find evidence you have those drugs, you will go to jail for the rest of your life. Are you listening to me?" _

"_Mary, I don't know where they went…I swear! I didn't know anything about this. Why won't they believe me?" Tears now._

"_Probably because you already lied to them once…and me…and Marshall," Mary's voice was low with anger now._

"_You have to help me!" Brandi wailed, and Mary couldn't take it. She hung up the phone and went back into the guest room to get ready to leave._

Now thoughts of her sister's plight crept into the continued review of her abduction like brambles in an unkempt garden. Just thickening the overgrowth until the whole, tangled mess was impossible to make sense of. Mary wondered how the hell she was going to pull her sister out of this when she could barely keep her own head above water.

Marshall had slept soundly, but Mary laid awake for a good portion of the night. She was comfortable, cocooned in her partner's warmth, but sleep had eluded her. Instead, she ran the entire time in the basement through her mind and analyzed each agonizing event for any clues that would help them now. The more she thought about the trauma, the less she found herself reacting to it…almost as if she was becoming numb. She figured that was a good thing because she was damned if she was going to walk around skittish and teary eyed anymore.

A gravel car lot caught her eye outside the window, and the playback started again. Walking out of the building. The attacker grabbing her from behind. A hand on her shoulder, and Mary reached reflexively to grab a wrist and apply pressure.

"Hey! Mary, it's me!" Marshall's voice startled her out of her reverie.

Mary squinted in confusion, noticing his hand in her grip and his face peering at her with a slight grimace. He had tensed his arm in order to keep her from torquing the joint too sharply, and Mary let go of him as she realized her hold had probably hurt anyway, especially since he hadn't expected it.

"Jesus, Marshall…I'm sorry." Mary shook her head as she tried to clear it.

Marshall rotated his wrist to relieve the slight ache as he watched Mary. He was worried she was starting to have adverse reactions to the trauma she had suffered. That was the third time she had startled badly to stimuli this morning, and if she wasn't jumpy she was still and distracted. Her behavior was becoming mildly erratic, and he didn't want her to endanger herself or adversely affect the investigation. His need to keep her close became a little stronger.

"You didn't have much leverage, don't worry about it," he used a light tone to try to dismiss her concerns, "What had you so deep in thought?"

"Just trying to figure out what the hell we're going to do with my moron of a sister," she lied.

Marshall was silent, and Mary looked at him suspiciously. "What do **you** think we ought to do?"

"I'm pretty sure you'd object to my thoughts on this matter," he replied in a steely tone.

"For God's sake, Marshall, I can't just throw her to the dogs on this," Mary began, then held up a hand as she saw her partner take a breath to interrupt, "I know she needs to face the music on the minor trafficking charges, but accessory to murder is crazy."

"Mary, she hid drugs in your house for months then stole them from a man who ultimately killed federal agents and kidnapped you in retaliation. She then negotiated with this man to try to save her boyfriend, not her sister, and didn't even tell anyone she knew who was holding you. Now she wants you to save her ass when she's the reason you were put into mortal danger in the first place," Marshall's voice rose slightly with the rant and he took a deep breath to power back down before continuing.

"I hold her and O'Connor responsible for every bruise on your body at this point, and you really don't want to know what I think we ought to do with her."

He turned into the hotel parking lot and pulled into a spot as Mary assessed him. He was angry and tense now and she bristled in response.

"Then just keep your hole shut and let me talk."

"Fine. Just don't go promising her some magical fix or happy ending." Marshall looked at her hard, turning off the car.

Mary glared back and then awkwardly levered herself out of the car as she replied, "God forbid anyone should have a happy, fucking ending."

Marshall caught up with her at the door of the lobby and reached out to gently snag her elbow, turning her towards him. "I don't want to fight about this, Mare, but you're putting me in a tough spot here."

She understood what he was saying. If Brandi was withholding evidence and revealed anything to Mary, Marshall was obligated to report that to Stan and the FBI. And since Mary was officially on leave, her partner was the marshal in charge of this interview. He was willing to let her take over verbally, but he had the ultimate say on what did, and did not, get asked.

He could see her deliberating in her head and just waited. Finally, she took a deep breath and blew it out, conceding to him reluctantly, "Fine. We'll play it like everyone else. But try not to snap her like a twig, okay?"

Nodding, Marshall released her arm and opened the door for their entry.

Mary's mother and sister greeted her enthusiastically as they entered their room, and Marshall had to help her gently ward them off. Jinx tutted and fussed over her daughter's bruises again, and Brandi kept apologizing and asking questions.

"God, Mary, what did they do to you? They didn't hurt you, did they?" Brandi looked lost and concerned.

"It was a long night, Squish, and I'm not going to talk about it right now," Mary explained, leaning against the wall as she regarded the two women now sitting on the bed.

They looked like two kids sent to the principal's office, and Mary wondered how the hell they had gotten this far in life without getting into more trouble than they had. Jinx had obviously found a way to the grocery store for liquor as Mary could smell it on her, and Brandi's side of the room looked like a tornado had hit it. She had been taking care of them for so long that she hardly put any thought into it…a rote task that she could undertake with her eyes closed. Mary wondered how long she would be able to keep doing it. How long she** should** keep doing it.

"Mare?" Marshall prompted her from his seat, looking at her with a trace of worry.

Mary focused on Brandi as she dragged her mind back to the present, "Brandi, I'm going to ask you some questions about Chuck, Spanky and the drugs that are allegedly missing. I need you to give me honest answers. Don't try to blow smoke up my ass because I know when you're lying. If I think you're lying, I'm going to take you in and let the FBI ask you questions. Are we clear?"

Brandi looked nervous and shot a glance at her mother who reached over and held her hands, giving Mary a reproachful look.

"Mary, you're scaring her," Jinx scolded.

"She should be scared. This is serious," Marshall dropped into the conversation with a stern tone.

Mary warned her partner with a look, then echoed his thoughts to her sister, "Marshall's right. This is a really bad situation, and if we don't placate Agent O'Connor and the cops with some answers and information, you're going to be looking at jail time, Brandi. Now tell me exactly what happened from the time you got the call from Chuck to set up this deal to the time you got back to my house."

Brandi launched into the lengthy tale, hiccupping and sobbing through parts of it as Jinx rubbed her back and squeezed her hands. Marshall took notes and Mary just stood and watched her sister. She really wanted to feel sympathy for her, really wanted her sister's tears to tug at her heart strings, but she felt nothing. Just listened to the sad story and picked out details that may be of interest to explore in more depth later.

Marshall's notes continued onto another page with the twists and turns in Brandi's story, and he glanced at his partner once or twice to gauge her reactions to certain elements of Brandi's tale. Her expression remained neutral and her eyes were focused on her sister, more stoic that he had expected. She was definitely off today.

Brandi finished by telling Mary she had put the suitcase of drugs in the trunk in her bedroom and went to class later in the day. Mary seemed to be considering this, and the only sounds in the hotel room for a few minutes were Brandi's sobs and Jinx's quiet murmurings.

Mary looked at Marshall as he looked at her, both thinking the same thing. Why hadn't the FBI found the suitcase? Or if they did, why weren't they crowing with their discovery?

"I'll call Stan to see what was discovered in the search, and we can stop by the house later," Marshall replied to her unanswered questions. Mary nodded and turned her attention back to Brandi.

"You're doing fine, Squish, and this is really helpful," Mary tried to be encouraging, "Let's talk about what happened later, after I was kidnapped. Tell me about the phone call from Spanky."

Mary watched her sister's eyes dart around and knew she was going to lie. "I never talked to Spanky," Brandi said without looking at her.

"I was sitting right there when you did, Brandi. I told you not to lie to me."

Jinx looked at Brandi with astonishment, "You knew where your sister was and you didn't tell anyone?"

"No!" Brandi pleaded with Jinx and Mary, "I didn't know where you were, Mary! I swear. Spanky was telling me all these things and I was really confused and just couldn't think. I could hear Chuck saying something, and then Spanky wanted me to choose and before I could even say anything he shot someone! Mary screamed and I thought he had shot her, but then Spanky said she was still alive, but he was going to kill her if I didn't bring him the drugs by the next hour." Brandi broke down in sobs and Jinx went back to comforting her.

Mary remembered the feel of the warm spray of blood and brain matter on her arm and face as Spanky blew Chuck's head off. The sweet, metallic smell still noticeable if she concentrated. She closed her eyes at the remembered feel of the hard barrel of the gun pressed against her head, her heart thudding in her chest. It was the first time in her life she truly thought she was going to die and all she had thought was to wonder if it was going to hurt.

"Keep talking, Brandi," Marshall said, standing up to move over to Mary as he prompted her sister, "What happened next?"

Brandi and Jinx hadn't noticed Mary's distress, absorbed in their own drama, and Brandi gulped some air before continuing. She told them about O'Connor preventing her from leaving the house with his questioning and by the time the hour was up, Brandi just figured Spanky had killed Mary. This prompted another round of sobs.

During Brandi's telling, Marshall stood in front of Mary and blocked her from the women's view as he faced her.

"Mary, are you okay?" he whispered, watching her pinched face.

She nodded slightly as she took a few deep breaths, then opened her eyes to look at him as she tried to regroup. It was hard to drag herself out of the memories today, and her fatigue piled on with each successive attempt. It was only ten in the morning and she felt like she had been awake for days.

Marshall studied her for a few moments more before turning back to Brandi.

"Why didn't you tell O'Connor about the phone call? About Spanky having Mary and shooting Chuck?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Brandi whined, "I couldn't think…it was so confusing."

Marshall wasn't falling for it. "You didn't say anything because you didn't want to get in trouble for having the drugs. You admit you still had them at that time. You were going to let your sister die so that you wouldn't get into trouble. We could've caught Spanky then, Brandi. We could've found Mary six hours earlier if you had said something."

His jaw was set and his eyes flashed. Brandi had tears running down her face and Jinx jumped to her daughter's defense.

"Don't you talk to her like that, Marshall!" Jinx scolded, "She was scared. She did the best she could at the time."

He wasn't going to be deterred now. "You never said a word, Brandi. Not the whole time. You knew who was holding Mary, knew what he wanted, knew he would kill for it, and you just let her sit in that basement without saying a word. Did you even think about your sister during that whole time? Or did you only think about yourself, and how you were going to cover your ass? Were you even happy to know she had been rescued? Or would it have been easier to pretend nothing had happened if she were dead?"

"Marshall," Mary's voice whipped into the air, "That's enough."

Her partner shot a glance her way, then walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Mary stared after him for a minute, then assessed her weeping relatives. She wished she could've said the words he had said, expressed exactly the same sentiment. Maybe the women on the bed needed to be shocked into awareness of the world around them. Bitch slapped into reality.

"He shouldn't say those things to your sister, Mary," Jinx whispered, obviously upset.

"It's hard to understand her silence, Mom. I don't blame him for being angry with her."

"Are you mad at me too, Mary?" Brandi sobbed.

Mary tried to place a name on the emotions she felt towards her sister at this point, but there were too many and she couldn't separate them. "I am. You hung me out to dry, Squish, and it was a very long six hours."

Brandi's lips trembled as she stared at her older sister's impassive face, "I'm sorry, Mary. I thought you were dead and I didn't know…I didn't know what to do."

Mary just shook her head and walked over to the bathroom door. "C'mon, Marshall, we need to get downtown." She only had one more thing to ask her sister.

"Brandi, when is the last time you actually saw the drugs that were in the suitcase?"

Brandi sniffled as she tried to remember, "Um…I guess right before I left with you to go to the airport. I um, checked on them."

Marshall had come out, and at Brandi's words he slid his eyes over to meet Mary's. Thus the trace the dogs had picked up. Brandi had been using out of the suitcase. Mary sighed and proceeded to the door.

"Mary," Brandi wailed, "am I going to go to jail?"

"I don't know. I'll call you later with the name of a good lawyer so that you have some sort of representation besides the crap public defender if they arrest you. Stay here, or be at school. Don't go anywhere else."

"That's it?" Jinx stood, looking at the partners incredulously, "That's all you're going to do for her?"

Mary just walked out of the room. Marshall let her go by, then turned back to Jinx.

"If it was up to me, I'd arrest her for obstruction right now, so you both better just do what Mary says and stay out of the way." He pointed a stern finger at them before pulling the door shut behind him on his way out.

They walked out to the SUV in silence, both lost in thought with the details revealed by Brandi. Marshall still couldn't understand how Mary's sister could show such a blatant disregard for his partner's life and then not understand why he was angry about it. He wanted to grab the young woman and shake some sense into her. Wanted to show her the scratches and bruises he had seen on Mary's back and hips this morning when he slid out of the bed and looked back to pull the covers over her.

Her t-shirt had ridden up, and the sight of the injuries on the exposed skin had him standing frozen in mid motion…shocked. He hadn't asked about her injuries because he knew she wouldn't tell him. Seeing a small portion of them and knowing that she hid worse was torture. Marshall had tucked the blankets back around her with extra care.

"Now you're the one lost in thought," Mary tossed at him, poking him in the arm, "You've got the keys."

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled, opening the doors so they could climb in.

"What were you thinking about?" she asked, settling carefully into her seat.

"You."

Mary looked at him with a grin, "Wow, sleep with you for two nights and now you're mooning over me. Flattering, but bordering on creepy."

Marshall tried to return a halfhearted grin, but now his mind was stuck and he needed some clarification. "I'm worried you're injured more seriously that you're letting on."

Mary's grin faded and she crossed her arms over her chest, "I told you I'd be fine. I'm not talking about this."

"Did you even let them treat you at the ER? Or did you just abuse the staff until they let you go?"

She huffed, "Why are you asking me about this now?"

"I saw some of those bruises and scratches when you were asleep this morning," Marshall began, throwing caution to the wind in his search for an honest answer, "and they looked nasty. I worry there's worse."

"So what if there is? What the hell does it matter? And, yes, I let them treat me at the ER…even had a kit done if that makes you happy. I'm stubborn, not stupid." Mary was now also embarrassed and turned away from him to stare out the window, "Just drop it."

Her defensive answer pretty much confirmed his suspicions and he sighed, "I worry you'll push yourself too hard. Cause yourself worse injury."

"Find something else to worry about," she snapped, "and find a place to stop for lunch. I'm hungry."

Her diversionary tactic had all the subtlety of a buffalo, but Marshall knew he wasn't going to get any more answers concerning her injuries. Another reason to just keep an eye on her.

They stopped for lunch at a little burrito place they both liked, and by the time they climbed back into the car they were back to bantering and tossing around ideas in the case. It was time to meet with Dershowitz and then try to get the FBI to let them have some access to Spanky, and Marshall turned the car towards the police station.

* * *

***** Mary's little personal rollercoaster ride has left the station. She's desperate to be back to normal, and it's not going to be that easy. Please, keep the REVIEWS coming! Thanks! *****


	6. Pushing

***** Newton's First Law of Motion: An object in motion will remain in motion unless acted on by an outside force. In IPS terms: Mary will rush forward until she runs into a wall. A chapter of too much activity and poor judgement. The wall is coming. *****

* * *

"Man is harder than iron, stronger than stone and more fragile than a rose."

--- Turkish proverb

* * *

Mary and Marshall walked into the Albuquerque police headquarters during the lunch hour, and Mary felt herself become anxious. There were a lot of people milling about, and she needed to be able to keep an eye on all of them. Feeling ridiculous, she forced herself to focus on Marshall and relax her neck and shoulders. Sidling a bit closer to her partner as they signed in and then cut through a squad room to head down a long hall to the elevators, she recognized his lecture on the architecture of the new police headquarters being built on the northwest side of town. He was often praising the eco friendly design with a roof garden and solar panels. It was a good distraction, and Mary rolled her eyes.

"Haven't I had this lecture before, Professor Higgins?"

"What?" he shrugged, turning to see her and reining in his stride to match her slower pace, "I appreciate good architecture. This city is full of fascinating buildings, you know. Architecture is like fine art, you have to look at it more than once and from many angles to truly appreciate its beauty. Even this building has features that were architecturally cutting edge at the time."

"Mmmhmm," Mary grunted, unconvinced. "It's a block of metal and concrete with windows and doors. People go in and people go out. My art appreciation will start if the elevator's working so I don't have to haul my sorry ass up four flights of stairs."

He wrinkled his nose at her, "You've never even been to a fine art museum, have you?"

She smiled sweetly with her response, "Must've missed that field trip."

They swerved to avoid a group headed the other way, and a man came out of one of the doorways along the hall talking on his cellphone and oblivious to traffic. He charged right into the back of Mary, then grabbed her waist reflexively to steady her with an apology, continuing hastily on his way as he continued to chat. Marshall was jostled sideways by the encounter and tsked.

"Either he just got a hot tip or…shit," his musing trailed into a curse as he turned to see Mary.

She stood still with her hands fisted at her sides, eyes closed and face pale, and her breaths came fast and shallow. Marshall stepped over to her quickly to take her arms, very concerned she was going to pass out. He maneuvered her closer to the wall to get them out of the middle of the hallway.

"Mary, you're okay…slow your breathing down. Slow, deep breaths." He watched her swallow and as she tried to settle herself down, felt her shake. "What just happened?"

She had so many images flashing through her mind that it was hard to concentrate on what Marshall was saying. Pulse pounding and ears ringing, Mary covered her face with her hands and just tried to focus on the here and now. After a few moments, she brought her hands down to hug her elbows as she answered his question in a rough voice.

"He was pressed up against my back…he put his hands on my hips."

"Who?"

"That man who just ran into me. Totally accidental, but…it triggered too many memories. Dammit," she swore as she continued to tremble, not wanting to feel this way.

Understanding dawned on Marshall and he squeezed his eyes shut with sympathy. She was so good at maintaining the façade of normalcy, that even with her obvious bruises he had forgotten it was less than forty eight hours since the trauma had occurred. Most people would still be recovering quietly and allowing their minds and bodies to rest. Not Mary. Mary had launched herself right back into the fray of real life, and her mind was not ready to process all the insults real life could dole out.

It was partly his fault too, he noted, remembering her jumpiness from earlier in the day. He couldn't let himself be drawn into her false reality of 'everything is peachy keen', and needed to remain vigilant to the environment they were in. There were too many people here, mostly men, and he would have to strictly limit their physical contact with his partner.

Rubbing her arms, he just continued to stand in front of her and block her from the view of anyone walking by as he talked her down.

"I'll watch your back and make sure no one comes up behind you," he stated in a voice pitched just for her, "You let me know if there's anyone particularly bothersome or if someone is getting too close and I'll ward them off. Sound like a plan?"

Mary had been wondering how she was going to navigate the rest of the building when Marshall made his suggestion. Uncertain as to whether she would be able to keep it together if another person touched her the wrong way, his offer of protection gave her some breathing room. At the same time, knowing she was dependent upon him in order to function pissed her off. She had never walked through life standing on anything but her own two feet, and Mary vowed to herself that this helplessness would come to a quick end.

She nodded in agreement, but voiced her displeasure, "This is ridiculous. I'm jumping at shadows."

"This is normal, and you're asking too much of yourself."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Marshall saw Mary set her jaw.

"Okay, let's get up there." Mary shrugged off his hands.

"Are you sure?"

"Would you rather stand here until I fall down, nitwit?" she shot back, nerves now shot.

Marshall backed off and let her push by him. She stood looking at the floor while they waited for the elevator.

"Sorry," her low apology while they rode up to the fourth floor caused his eyebrows to shoot up. He wasn't sure if it was for her reaction or comment. Either way.

"Understandable, don't worry about it."

The doors opened onto a busy squad room, Mary tensed, and Marshall discreetly reached up to squeeze the back of her neck reassuringly, "I've got you covered, let's tackle this bad boy."

Dershowitz's office sat in the glassed off area across the floor, and Mary strode purposefully towards it as Marshall trailed closely behind. The few detectives who noticed them moved quickly out of their way as the tall marshal's expression was stony and all business. Mary didn't see Bobby at his desk, and turned to ask another detective where he was.

"Interrogation four. He was moving fast to get down there. The feebs were bringing over some hot commodity on loan for a short time."

As if on cue, Marshall's phone rang. It was Stan, and his boss launched right in.

"Get your ass over to APD. Just found out the FBI is loaning us Spanky for an hour. Nice of them to forewarn us. I guess they weren't planning on figuring in travel time."

Marshall smiled as he motioned Mary back towards the elevators, following her as he talked, "We're already here. On our way down now."

"We?" Stan growled.

"I told you she'd be with me. She's like a barnacle, hard to scrape off," he teased purposefully as Mary glowered and punched him in the arm as they loaded back in the car. He hung up with their boss to rub his bicep. She had a way of hitting that knotted the muscle every time.

"Ow!"

She sneered at him, then asked, "Stan, I take it?"

"Yeah, they've got Spanky in the basement." He didn't catch the double meaning behind the sentence until it was already out, but Mary shrugged it off.

"I think I've been to this party already. Didn't really want to be invited back."

Marshall had to chuckle at her sentiment.

The doors opened and Mary hissed, "Son of a bitch."

Stan, Dershowitz and O'Connor stood in the hallway in front of room four, all three men looking surly. Marshall stepped out of the elevator with purpose, and Mary put her hand on his arm to stop him.

"Put the club away, Captain Caveman. Let's play nice for now."

"Mary…" Marshall warned, disappointed that she was going to rein him in.

"If he misbehaves he's all yours," she offered as she headed into the hallway. Marshall followed her, giving O'Connor the stinkeye over her shoulder.

Mary's gut was tight as she approached the small crowd in front of the interrogation room. She hadn't seen Bobby since the night of the rescue, and O'Connor still caused her blood to boil. She wasn't going to show the FBI asshole a single moment of weakness, and she was damned if he thought he was going to mess with her.

"Stan. Dershowitz." Mary greeted the two friendlies and they nodded back. She then looked at O'Connor.

"How's the jaw, Agent O'Connor?" she asked sweetly, satisfied to see a bruise on the side of his face.

O'Connor was an idiot, but he wasn't suicidal. Four against one was not good odds…especially these four. He nodded at the newcomers and ignored Mary's taunt, "Marshal Shannon, Marshal Mann. Mr. Carlson is available to you for one hour. There will be an independent agent in the interrogation room at all times, and Mr. Carlson will not sign anything that has not been approved by the ADA. Are we clear?"

"We're video recording, as always," Dershowitz added.

"Fine," conceded O'Connor, "but we get copies."

"You didn't give us much prep time, here O'Connor," Stan chided, "what's that about?"

The agent just smiled smugly as he replied, "You're wasting time, McQueen."

Marshall jumped in, "Don't worry, Stan. I've got everything we need, and I doubt we'll need an hour."

Stan smiled and O'Connor frowned. Mary had no idea what was going on and shrugged as she looked at Bobby, who also looked lost and shrugged back. Signals and posturing, and Mary was too tired to catch all the innuendos. She decided to take her weary body and lack of testosterone into the viewing room. There was no way she was going to be in the same room with Spanky ever again if she could help it, and doubted the other men would let her sit in on the interrogation anyway. Bobby followed her in, and she turned to him after the door was shut, not wanting to look through the glass yet.

"Aren't you going to question him too?" she asked with a frown.

"We've got him dead to rights for the trafficking charge, and that's all we can bring against him. The bigger dogs got the better bones, and this is your song and dance today," Bobby explained, then narrowed his eyes as Mary in assessment.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

Mary had no doubts he knew the whole story, and she shrugged one shoulder dismissively, "Forging ahead…and not talking about it today." She added the second part as she saw him take a breath to ask another question.

"Fair enough," Bobby conceded. "You want the sound on?"

Mary nodded, still facing away from the window as Dershowitz moved over to toggle the speaker switch and put on his earpiece. She was relieved he was going to respect her wishes and not press her about the incident. Also relieved he didn't question her right to be here.

"…and I got nothin' to say to you schmucks either." Spanky's voice filled the room and Mary was lost in memory.

Fear. Nausea. Pain. Fury. A whirlwind of sensations, and Mary placed her hands on the desk, leaning into them as she closed her eyes and concentrated on calming her whipped up emotions. She could do this, she told herself, just had to concentrate on the words that were being said, not the images and thoughts attached to them. Just listen to the words as if they were being read from a book. A story, nothing more.

She opened her eyes and settled a hip against the desk to rest her legs slightly. There was no way she was going to sit in either of the two, hard plastic chairs available. Allowing herself to take in the view through the window, Mary focused on the back of her partner's head instead of looking at Spanky.

Stan and Marshall sat across the table from Spanky, the unknown FBI agent standing in the corner, papers on the table between the participants. Stan introduced himself and Marshall, and Spanky snorted.

"A marshal named Marshall. Well that makes more sense, then. She must've been yellin' for you."

Mary thought Marshall was going to go over the table for a moment, and she leaned forward with a whispered, "Don't," as she willed him to be still. She could remember mentally calling for her partner, but didn't realize she must've said something out loud a few times. He stayed in his seat, and she let out a breath. Mary knew Bobby was looking at her, but she kept her eyes on the window and her face impassive.

The interview continued for nearly a half hour with Stan and Marshall asking all the standard questions, and Spanky giving all the standard answers. The prisoner sat back at one point and blatantly implied that there was no reason he shouldn't implicate Mary, he had nothing to lose. She was repulsed by the stories he told about her time in the basement, making her out to be the one who suggested shooting Chuck. He was too smart to be tripped up, and Mary just fumed as he regaled the room with lies about her involvement.

"He's lying through his fucking teeth, Bobby," she hissed, "I certainly hope everyone knows that."

"Those of us that know you do, but he spins a plausible enough story for there to be doubt. Especially with your sister obviously involved."

Dershowitz wanted to break Spanky's neck for trying to bring this down on the woman standing next to him. Despite their clashes, he considered her a friend, and he could see the toll this whole situation was taking on her. She shouldn't even be here, but he knew better than to voice that thought.

Mary watched Marshall pull a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfold it onto the table.

"Mr. Carlson, are you familiar with the condition called inherited hemolytic anemia?" he asked carefully.

The next fifteen minutes were a tribute to the intelligence and cleverness of her partner, and Mary had to smile with pride as he and Stan manipulated Spanky into a corner.

"You get 'em, Cowboy," she muttered under her breath.

The door to the viewing room opened swiftly and Mary swore as she jumped away from the desk. O'Connor glared at her, then moved to stand in front of the window as he swore.

"What the hell kind of game are they playing? Where did that information come from?"

He had been listening in through the hallway speaker when the marshals began to pull his witness' story apart.

Spanky was now recanting his statements that implicated Mary, assuring the Inspectors he would not testify against her and that she had nothing to do with either the drug transfer, buy or disappearance. He also admitted to having no contact with Brandi other than one phone call during the abduction. Then he clammed up, leaned back and folded his hands, shrugging at the FBI agent in the room.

"Guess we found something he'd rather do than kiss your ass, O'Connor," Mary said dryly as she watched the back of the agent in front of her. "Parenthood will look good on him, don't you think?"

O'Connor turned to pin her with a stony stare, and Dershowitz moved closer to the agent.

"You're not going to get away with this, Shannon," O'Connor threatened.

Mary curled her lip, "Get away with what, you moron? Justice? The truth? Surely you have something better to do than pursue this twisted farce you've laid out in front of everyone. I can understand your need to catch the assholes who killed your agents, and I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to plug them yourself, but I don't understand why you want to lump me in with them too."

O'Connor stepped towards her and she stepped towards the door. "I don't ascribe to the theory that there can be a good apple tree grown from a bad seed, Shannon. Your whole family reeks of collaboration and I can smell you from a block away."

His words made her nauseous and she wanted to slap him again to wipe the sneer off his face. Instead, she opened the door and walked into the hallway with a dismissal.

"Go back to Jersey, fuckwit, and take that slimeball in the other room with you."

O'Connor rushed out the door after her, followed by Bobby who triggered his earpiece. "Marshall. Hallway."

"Where are the drugs, Shannon? How did they magically disappear?" O'Connor called as Mary continued to walk towards the elevator.

She had no idea where she was headed, but it was certainly somewhere other than this hallway with that man. She just needed to get out now. There was an unfamiliar sensation of nervousness curling in her gut, and as she heard him approach, she swung around to hold to her hand up in front of her.

"Stay the fuck away from me, O'Connor. And stay the fuck away from my family. If you want to talk to my sister or to me, then you can make a request through the Marshal's office. I'm not playing your game. Are we clear, or do I have to knock some sense into your pea brain again?"

O'Connor's eyes flashed and he stepped forward to grab her upper arm as he growled, "Listen to me…" The rest of his statement went unfinished for a variety of reasons, the main one being that his face was swiftly planted into the floor.

Marshall had come out of the interrogation room at Dershowitz's request, and the cop pointed towards the elevator where O'Connor was looming over Mary. She was angry, he could tell, and her words were punctuated by her finger stabbing in the air. He quickly walked towards them, then leapt the last few yards as the FBI agent roughly grabbed her arm.

Mary skittered backwards as her partner knocked O'Connor's legs out from underneath him while twisting his arm behind his back to drive him face first into the floor. The agent's body hit the ground with a satisfying 'thump', and Marshall kept one knee planted in his back to keep him from moving.

"You were told to stay away from her," Marshall hissed into O'Connor's ear, "Maybe I need to knock the shit out of your ears for you."

He then looked up at his partner. "You okay?" She gave a quick nod.

Stan and Bobby joined them and Stan ordered, "Let him up, Marshall."

Marshall reluctantly pulled the agent to his feet, then shoved him against the wall as he released him. O'Connor stumbled and adjusted his clothing as he glared at everyone.

"This will go in my report," he huffed with his final attempts to straighten his tie. Giving Mary one last look, he walked back to the interrogation room as four pairs of eyes watched him.

Mary punched the button on the elevator and prayed it would come quickly. She felt like she was going to jump out of her skin again. The confrontation had not only angered her, but caused fear to well up into her throat like bile. His angry voice and looming presence caused her mind to scream 'danger' and her body reacted with the jolt of adrenaline she usually associated with activities that involved gun play. Angry men had never scared her before, and she was completely disgusted with her traitorous body and mind. She needed to get away from this place and away from the stares that only made her self conscious.

"Mary, are you all right?" asked Marshall as he stood next to her. She was facing the elevator doors and wouldn't look at him.

"Of course I'm all right, idiot, why wouldn't I be. What? Am I made of fucking glass now? All he did was grab my arm," Mary snapped defensively, then held her palm out to him, "I'm going home. Give me the keys."

The elevator doors opened and Mary stepped in, holding the doors open while she waited for the keys. She noted Bobby and Stan talking in the hall a few feet away and was thankful they weren't looking at her.

Marshall thought she looked spooked, and he didn't want her to go by herself. This confrontation with O'Connor had shaken her but she wasn't going to admit it. The woman was going to start falling apart pretty soon at the rate she was pushing herself.

"Mary, I don't think…" he began, only to be cut off.

"Dammit, Marshall, give me the mother humping keys!" Mary's voice was raised and the men in the hallway looked at her in surprise.

He wasn't going to have it out with her here and now, so Marshall reluctantly handed over the car keys as they stared at each other. She snatched them and crossed her arms over her chest as the doors closed. He contemplated the closed doors for a few moments before sighing and turning back to join Bobby and Stan.

"Is she okay?" asked Stan warily.

"No, she's not." Marshall replied stiffly, his face pinched.

"Aren't you going to go after her" wondered Dershowitz.

"Not without full body armor. I know where she's headed and I'll call her in a little while. She needs to blow off some steam." Marshall looked at Stan expectedly, "We have some work to get done on this deal we just laid down, and I'd like to get it done as quickly as possible."

His boss nodded in agreement, and the flurry of calls and paperwork commenced.

* * *

***** Tension, tension, tension...whew. Mary is not doing too well, not surprisingly. I hope all those who wanted Marshall to cream O'Connor are at least partially satisifed :) Please keep reading...and of course, keep REVIEWING! *****


	7. Resisting

***** She fights herself...she fights Marshall...it's a battle every step of the way. Running out of steam, though. Marshall has the patience of Job. *****

* * *

_"Pain is a relatively objective, physical phenomenon; suffering is our psychological resistance to what happens. Events may create physical pain, but they do not in themselves create suffering. Resistance creates suffering. Stress happens when your mind resists what is..." _

_--- Dave Millman_

* * *

Mary climbed into the SUV and rested her head on the steering wheel as she tried to gain control of her mind and body. Her hands shook, her head throbbed and other parts of her complained with every shift of her weight. She had been nearly jogging by the time she exited the building as the ebb and flow of the traffic inside convinced her that she would be accosted at any moment. It was so completely out of character that she was almost in tears with frustration.

She vaguely remembered the psych course she had to take when training for WITSEC. Not only did the program insist its Inspectors be in peak physical shape, it demanded extensive knowledge of the psyche of the people it was pledged to protect. They took many psychologically damaged witnesses under their wing, and the proper approach when building trust was essential. The rape victims had always been hard for her, their defenses difficult to breach and their trust hard to earn. The books said that was normal. Some recovered more quickly than others, some not all, but she could count a few who seemed as though they had returned to their former selves.

Mary had sworn if it had ever happened to her she wouldn't be like those skittish, withdrawn and angry women she ushered into the WITSEC office. She wouldn't present a picture of roiling, out of control emotions painted over with a calm veneer so thin you could see the cracks. Angry…she would be angry for sure, but scared? She hadn't expected scared. And she certainly hadn't expected scared of her own shadow.

So here she sat. Hiding in a car, shaking like a leaf and ready to punch out the next person who asked her if she was okay. She had turned into one of her witnesses, and the tears of frustration now rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily and shoved the keys in the ignition after moving the seat up to where she could reach the pedals.

It wasn't until she had to stop at a railroad crossing to let a train pass that Mary realized she hadn't been paying attention to where she was driving…nor had she put on her seatbelt. Her subconscious mind must've taken over as her conscious mind was again busy trudging through the muck of her assault in the basement. Now buckling herself in as she waited for the train, she looked around to see if she recognized the area of town she found herself in.

No luck. She was going to have to just drive until she recognized a street and then backtrack to a larger road or highway. Remembering Marshall's one time comment of "_you can't be lost in your own city, Mary, just keep turning onto larger roads and eventually you'll come upon a cross street you recognize_", she merged onto a good sized boulevard and the next stoplight proved him right. She was damned if she'd tell him that.

Almost sucked back into her own musings, it took a few rings of her phone to get her attention. Mary almost didn't answer it when she saw it was her partner, but then figured he'd just keep calling if she didn't.

"What."

"Where are you?"

"Why?"

She heard him sigh and could envision him rubbing his forehead in frustration. "I'm stuck here at APD filling out this damn paperwork and I wanted to check on you. You were…irritated when you left."

"I'm driving. And you don't need to check on me," she replied churlishly, still unsettled.

"Okay…" he dragged out the word, "where are you planning to end up? I'll have Stan drop me there when we're done."

Marshall was getting frustrated with his partner and he had only been on the phone with her for two minutes. His nerves were worn thin with the activities of the day, his mind kept replaying Spanky's statement about her yelling for him, and now he was betting Mary was going to be difficult for the rest of the day. She was trying so hard to ignore the physical and mental effects of the trauma, and he was just going to have to hang on and weather the storm until she got tired of beating herself against the wall. He would not want to be anywhere else but beside her, but he needed some rest too.

Mary had to think about Marshall's question for a few minutes before she finally decided on a destination.

"I'll be at my place. I want to see what they left for me and maybe clean up a few things." The thought of action seemed preferable to sitting around and thinking about things.

"Jesus, Mare, you don't need to be cleaning things up," Marshall's frustrated tone conveyed very clearly what he thought of that idea, "Can you please just rest? You're going to be scraping yourself off the floor pretty soon if you don't slow down."

"Stop trying to turn me into some weak, hand wringing pansy ass, Marshall!" Mary nearly yelled into the phone as her partner's request set her off. She continued to rant at him, "I think I know when I need to rest and when I don't. I was raped, not thrown off a fucking cliff, and I don't need to be coddled." She was breathing heavily after the few sentences as she listened to the brief silence on the other end.

"You were also kidnapped, drugged, chained up, beaten and nearly shot," his voice was soft and controlled as he tried to talk her down after a moment, "I think the sum total qualifies you for some downtime. And I would never even dream of thinking you were a pansy ass."

She was quiet for a few minutes, and Marshall just sat and waited…and worried. Driving while emotionally unstable was not the safest of activities, and his litany of physical insults once again dragged his mind back to their earlier conversation about her injuries. He was in law enforcement…he knew what kind of injuries a woman could sustain from a violent rape. Knew what kind of complications she'd be susceptible to. He needed some facts in order to make sure she was taken care of properly.

He heard her curse softly, and let go of the breath he was holding as she again spoke.

"I'm going to my house. I'll try not to clean," Mary said calmly. A concession.

"Okay. I'll meet you there later."

She hung up and Marshall just rubbed his temples for a few minutes before walking back to Bobby's office to finish up yet more paperwork. Stan saw his marshal's haggard look as he walked back in.

"She really needs to get into counseling, Marshall."

"You go ahead and tell her that, Stan," Marshall snapped, "I'm tired of getting my ass chewed off today."

He immediately felt guilty for the sentiment and tried to explain with a sigh, "She's not getting any rest, she won't take pain meds until bedtime even though she can barely move half the time, her sister and mother think she should be their savior and she's jumping at shadows. Top that off with Thing One and Thing Two in the basement today and she's wound so tight she's going to snap. I'm worried."

"She never said a word while Spanky retold the story today. Just stood there and stared through the glass. I've never seen her that still. She only got mad when he started telling lies about her," Dershowitz added his observations, "O'Connor seemed to flip her switch pretty quickly though."

"O'Connor could flip a cadaver's switch," Stan drawled, and the men chuckled in agreement.

"He's not going to leave her alone until we find out where those drugs went," Bobby theorized.

"He will sorely regret living if he comes near her again. I will not tolerate it," Marshall stated with aplomb as he filled in some lines on a form. Bobby and Stan shared a quick glance.

"Just don't shoot him, okay?" Stan asked. "I don't need the aggravation."

Marshall snorted, feeling a bit calmer and settled, and the men went back to work in comfortable silence.

His calm evaporated as he caught sight of her police report sitting on the corner of Bobby's desk. Not only would her statement be in there, but the medical record from the ER sat only three feet away from him. It was tempting, and for a moment he was ready to reach for it, then berated himself for even considering betraying his partner's trust. He preferred an argument over hurting her any day.

*** *** *** ***

Mary pulled into her driveway after her unexpectedly long drive. She was bone weary and it was only four in the afternoon. Of course, she had only slept a total of four or five hours the night before so she shouldn't be surprised at how tired she was. She doubted she'd get much more sleep tonight either, especially after having to see Spanky and O'Connor today.

Stumbling as she exited the SUV, Mary cursed the streaks of pain radiating from her injuries as she balanced with one hand on the door. She wondered if she had pulled a stitch or something as the pain seemed to get worse throughout the day today. Her wrists still ached, but the swelling had gone down tremendously and she had more movement. Other bruises and insults, however, had only continued to throb and burn with every motion. For the first time in her life, Mary looked forward to taking one of Marshall's pain pills later after she was in for the night. Taking a deep breath, she tried not to think about it too much and stiffly walked into the house.

The sight of the destruction once again shocked her into stillness. Shaking her head and cursing under her breath, Mary didn't even know where to start, so she just took a slow tour of her previously semi-neat home. She picked up a few items here and there that she knew should be transferred to another room, and by the time she got back to her bedroom she was fighting back tears.

Some of her favorite things had been broken and ruined and a few of them were not repairable. It just felt as though everything in her life had been completely disregarded and treated as expendable. Torn apart and tossed aside without thought. Just like she had been in that basement. Treated as something worthless. A sob caught in her throat, and Mary stood in the middle of her room trying not to cry. She was only partially successful as a few tears tracked their way down her cheeks.

"Stop it. Stop it," she ordered herself quietly, breathing deeply to regain control.

Mary wiped away tears as she checked on the few things she worried about in her room, her gun safe and her father's letters. The safe had been opened, but the contents inside were all accounted for. It took a few more minutes to find the shoebox of letters. Just as she was beginning to panic, Mary found the opened box under a pile of sweaters at the bottom of her closet, having been apparently tossed aside due to its innocuous contents. All the letters were there, and she replaced the box to its spot in the top corner of her closet shelves.

She now turned her attention to looking for the suitcase Brandi had said contained the drugs. Mary shook her head in annoyance as she walked to Brandi's room, remembering all the times she had helped her sister lug that suitcase around after she had arrived in Albuquerque, and then again when she thought Squish was flying out to Jersey.

"Mary Shannon, junior drug trafficker," she snorted with a small grin, stupidly amused with her self imposed moniker.

Brandi's room had been stripped down to the bare bones. The closet was empty with holes punched through the back, the dresser torn apart and even the carpeting peeled back in one corner with holes cut out near the bed. Mary just closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing before she covered the distance to the trunk. Opening the lid, she immediately saw the suitcase lying in the small space, and there were about a dozen white towels with a few softball sized rocks strewn about next to the case. No drugs, of course, but someone had gone to the trouble of packing the suitcase with items intended to simulate the previous contents. Now they just needed to figure out who.

Mary pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial as she headed back into the kitchen. It was the smallest room and probably the easiest to clean. She had to do something.

"Comment ca va?" Marshall answered.

"And your mother wears combat boots," Mary replied with an eye roll. She didn't even try to figure out what he was saying anymore.

"It's Cajun for 'what's up?', and my mother **does** wear combat boots. She prefers her old, worn in ones for going on hikes with my dad."

"Your mother dropped you on your head when you were a baby, you know that?"

"So you've told me." The familiar banter releasing Marshall's tension a bit.

Mary jumped right into the reason for the call, "The suitcase is still in the trunk, along with some towels and rocks meant to simulate the weight and feel of the drugs. Curiouser and curiouser."

"Nice of them to have used items that don't hold prints, wasn't it?" Marshall drawled.

Mary hadn't even thought of that, and now she also realized trying to take prints off the suitcase would be a lost cause. It had been checked baggage at one point in the near past. Too many people had handled it.

"I can't figure it out," Mary mused while pulling out the trash can to start chucking the piles of pasta and dried goods left on the counters and table, "I can't figure out when the switch was made."

"It must've been while Brandi was in the hotel room with Russell and his girlfriend. That's the only time the suitcase was out of her sight."

"That makes sense, but who would've done it?"

Mary now realized all the dry goods in the pantry had been opened and searched, and clenched her jaw in frustration as she just started to throw everything away. The chore, combined with the brainstorming session allowed her mind to stay focused on the present.

"I'm sure Spanky had competition in the area. Someone must've known about the deal and the drop and decided to undermine their rival," Mary surmised.

Marshall shrugged as he considered her idea, "It's a start. I'll feed it to Bobby to see if he can run some sheets on the local talent. Then we can stuff it down the FBI's throat and let them chase leads all over the city."

Mary liked that idea and grinned as she filled up yet another trash bag with opened containers from the pantry. Marshall could hear the activity from his end of the call.

"What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously.

"Eliminating dinner ideas," she replied evasively.

He narrowed his eyes at her through the phone, "You promised."

"I don't remember promising anything, buddy. But to put your suspicious little mind to rest, I'm going to finish up this little project here and then take a shower. Does that meet your approval?"

"A shower then resting?" Marshall knew he was pushing his luck, but she was currently in a neutral mood and it was likely she'd be agreeable.

"Whatever. What's your ETA?"

Marshall blew out a breath, "About another hour, maybe hour and a half. Do you need me before that?"

"No, just wanted to know when to have the food delivered."

"Our options are that limited, huh?"

"You have no idea," she drawled. Marshall chuckled and they called goodbyes before hanging up.

Mary's mind latched onto the convoluted story Brandi had told this morning, and she ran through the scenario of the drug swap at the hotel from a number of angles. Soon she was thinking about the larger picture of Spanky's drug ring and those mental gymnastics preoccupied her as she continued to clean the kitchen. When thoughts of her abduction snuck back to the forefront, her cleaning increased in pace and thoroughness, ultimately ending with Mary scrubbing the floor while she cursed at the men who had held her down. Finally, an hour after she started, she sat on the floor in the corner of the small kitchen calling the Chinese restaurant to place the dinner order.

The delivery would take about forty five minutes, and Mary stumbled out of the exceptionally clean kitchen to head to the shower.

*** *** *** ***

Mary lay still on her couch as she breathed through the pain.

The hot shower had soothed many aches and being clean refreshed her. The mess left in the bathroom by the search team grated on her nerves, though, and she ended up cleaning that room after drying off and getting dressed in some sweats. Unfortunately, she had slipped on the wet floor and ended up sitting down hard on the toilet seat lid. Literally seeing stars, Mary had to kneel on the bathroom floor for a few minutes until she was sure she wouldn't pass out. She had a high pain tolerance, but this was different…almost visceral. Slowly making her way to the couch, she now waited for her body to settle.

Mary heard Marshall's truck pull up, and was glad he had gotten there before the delivery boy as she wasn't sure she would've been able to get to the door. He knocked and she called him in, putting her game face on.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are you resting?" he teased as he saw her on the couch.

Mary gave him a tight smile and an insult, "Asshole."

He rolled his eyes as he pulled something out of his pocket. "I brought you a present!" He shook the little bottle of pain pills, and Mary had to grin.

"Wow, you know just what to get a girl," she exclaimed with false glee.

Marshall chuckled as he walked into the kitchen to get her a glass of water, then just stood and barked his displeasure as he saw the room, "Dammit, Mary!"

She winced and closed her eyes, deciding to remain quiet with the hopes he would just let it slide. No such luck.

Marshall filled a glass with ice water and tried to tamp down his anger. Cleaning a kitchen as thoroughly as Mary had cleaned this one was a work out on a good day…and she was not having a good day. On the way back to the couch, he noted her cell phone on the counter and the TV remote across the room on the floor. The couch pillows, too, were still strewn about and her legs rested on a pile of curtains tossed on top of the cushions. He handed her the glass of water and a pill with a stony glare, then turned to walk through the rest of the house instead of launching into what would surely be a tirade.

He tried to figure out what to do with her while he visually cataloged the mess left by the FBI. Slowly calming himself, Marshall investigated the suitcase in Brandi's room, then headed to the back bedroom.

The destruction in Mary's room depressed him. He knew she only kept a few personal items that were dear to her, and seeing her trinkets and momentos lying on the ground made his chest ache. Crossing the bedroom to turn off the bathroom light, he noted the lingering warmth from the steam of the shower and growled in displeasure as he saw she had cleaned that small room also.

Mary was saved from his immediate wrath by the arrival of the food, but as Marshall set the bags on the kitchen counter, he started his speech.

"I'm pretty sure you didn't lay down to rest. In fact, I'm almost certain you fell onto that couch as an alternative to falling on the floor. And I also think it's safe to assume that you can't even move right now. How am I doing?" he snapped, sorting out the food and putting it on plates.

Mary recognized his flat tone as true anger and carefully considered her response. This was going to be a conversation she was not going to like.

"I may have overdone it," she quietly stated, not having the energy to argue.

Marshall brought the food over to the couch, set it on the coffee table, then sat down next to it with his elbows on his knees as he regarded his partner. She looked pale and the tightness around her eyes attested to her pain.

"I could've looked at your report today while I was at the station. It was sitting right there on Bobby's desk."

Mary was immediately concerned and propped herself up on one elbow as she responded, "I asked you not to look at it!"

She didn't want him reading the details of her attack or seeing the pictures from the ER. The very thought upset her almost to the point of tears.

Marshall saw her distress and held up his hand, "I didn't look at it…because you asked me not to. But this consideration needs to work both ways, Mare. You can't keep me in the dark when you need me to help. I know it upsets you, but we need to talk about this. You're obviously in pain, it's obviously not getting better and I'm becoming alarmed. My nerves are also shot with this whole mess, and I can't rest if I think you're hurting yourself or getting sick."

"How does knowing the nitty gritty details help you rest any better?" she pleaded.

"I remember someone grilling my nurses for every detail of my care after I got shot. Even asking them when I was going to get my catheter out," he began and smiled tightly as she shifted her eyes and colored slightly, "Now why did you need to know those things?"

Mary couldn't think of a better response than she just needed to know, and Marshall's frustration began to make more sense. She rolled the decision around in her head for a few minutes while he sat quietly.

"Fine," she sighed, closing her eyes.

Marshall moved to sit on the cushions in front of her as she told him about the eighteen stitches, wincing in empathy and careful not to jostle her too much. She didn't protest as he gently stroked her hair while she rattled off the list of cuts and bruises in a low and monotonous voice, then just lay quietly for a few minutes when she was done talking.

"I think I may have pulled a stitch or two," she offered as explanation for her continued discomfort.

"That should be okay. You're taking the antibiotics, right?"

Her silence was his answer and he hung his head with a sigh, "Dammit, Mary, this is what I was worried about. Why didn't you get those filled?"

"I don't know," her voice quavered and Marshall decided not to push the issue and upset her even more.

"All right, let's eat and then head back to my place. You can't stay here in this mess. We'll stop on the way to get those meds so you can start taking them."

Marshall rubbed her shoulders slowly, wishing he could do more for her. Wishing she wouldn't fight his attempts to care for her every step of the way.

"Mare, look at me," he instructed gently, and she rolled her head slightly to meet his eyes, "You have to promise to tell me if you start feeling sick, okay?"

Mary nodded her agreement and then chuckled tiredly as he made her pinkie swear.

She propped herself up and tried to just concentrate on dinner after that. She felt stripped bare and weakened somehow by telling him about her injuries and didn't understand it. The confusing and distressing emotions were unwelcome, and Mary just wanted this whole thing to be over and done with so she could get on with her life.

* * *

***** Denial is a wonderful way to make yourself sick, isn't it!? At least Marshall knows what to watch for now. Mary has one more person she hasn't talked to yet...oh yeah, you know who it is! Please keep reading, and click on the button! REVIEW!! *****


	8. Plotting

_***** **_**So sorry for the delay!! was not uploading yesterday :( *****

_***** **_**Again the illusion of rest. Mary's mind never seems to shut down, and Marshall just tries to keep up. She's sneaky, and she's now on a mission. *****

* * *

_**To a surrounded enemy, you must leave a way of escape. Show him there is a road to safety, and so create in his mind the idea that there is an alternative to death. Then strike – Sun Tzu**_

* * *

Marshall drove them to the pharmacy to fill Mary's prescriptions, and by the time he came back out to the SUV she was asleep in the seat. She had been quiet since dinner; withdrawn and distracted, and he knew it was partially because he had pushed her to tell him about her injuries.

"Damned if I do…damned if I don't," he muttered to himself as he headed to his house.

It was his usual credo for dealing with Mary, but there were times when he truly wished she would drop the façade of invincibility. She was like an element he remembered reading about in a sci-fi novel; soft and malleable when handled gently, even to the point of running through your fingers. But give it a sharp blow or drop it, and it became as hard as glass and would shatter on impact. He had to keep moving forward with small steps and soothing words or he would be dealing with shards of his partner that would be difficult to put back together.

She whimpered in her sleep and he looked over to see she had her brow furrowed and her fists clenched. Already a bad dream, and she had only been asleep for twenty five minutes. It was going to be a long night, and he didn't think she would stay with him this time. Something told him she was going to withdraw and start to try to slog through it on own, and he wasn't ready to let her go. Reaching over, he gently loosened her fist and laced his fingers through hers in response to another sound of distress. His action seemed to help, and Mary's face relaxed as Marshall drove the rest of the way home.

She woke when they pulled into the driveway, momentarily disoriented as she leaned away from him into the door.

"Just me, Mare. We're at my house," he reassured her softly.

"I knew that. I was just stretching," she grumbled, covering poorly and tumbling out of the car before he could get around to help her.

Mary managed not to fall on the ground, and swore softly as she steadied her legs underneath her. She had taken another pain pill, and it was working a little too well. She felt a bit loopy. Didn't hurt as much, though, and it was definitely worth the trade off.

Marshall reached her and slipped his arm around her waist to help her up the walk to the porch, Mary holding onto his shoulders.

"You're really strong, you know that?" she muttered slowly, "I like that."

The completely random and uncharacteristic comment caught him off guard and he just peered at her for a moment. She hadn't said it with sarcasm or jest, just a sincere compliment and he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. "_Must be the pain meds,_" he silently decided.

"Thanks," he replied aloud. "All the better to keep you from falling on your ass."

She giggled, "You're funny too."

Marshall shot her another disbelieving glance as he fit the key into the lock. He was pretty damn sure he had never heard his partner giggle before. She was apparently narced out on the pain meds, and Marshall realized this could be an interesting evening. Since she didn't usually take anything stronger than ibuprofen, Mary was particularly susceptible to the effects of the stronger meds. Grinning, he coaxed her inside and watched as she headed for the couch.

Mary now remembered one of the reasons she didn't like to take pain medicine. Pretty sure she had just flirted with her partner, she hunkered down on the couch and closed her eyes, not wanting to embarrass herself any further for the time being.

"Why don't you go to bed, Mary?" Marshall asked.

"'Cause I'll have bad dreams," she slurred her words slightly as she tried to pull a blanket over herself, "I want to stay out here with you."

Marshall melted a little bit with her words, touched by the vulnerable side of his partner that was rarely presented. He stepped closer to help her with the blanket.

"Well, I'm not going to stay up too much longer. Are you going to sleep out here?"

She looked confused. "Don't you want me to sleep with you?"

Biting his lip to keep a straight face, Marshall tried to field a question more loaded than his Glock.

"I think that decision should fall to you."

"_Please?"_ he thought, hopeful he would get one more night of being able to have her close. She probably didn't know that her warm presence kept his nightmares at bay also. And he liked waking up to the smell of her hair.

She nodded definitively, "Yeah, roll me in with you when you go to bed. Otherwise, I'll just end up climbing in later."

Decision made and eyelids heavy, Mary settled into the couch cushions. She'd worry about trying to sleep in her own bed another day. Marshall's bed was safe right now, and her partner's presence calming. He smelled really good too. She smiled with the thought as sleep claimed her.

*** *** *** ***

She was trapped. The weight pressed down on her and she lay completely still as her sleep filled mind tried to interpret the sensation. Warmth against her back and side and she could feel breath on her ear. An arm holding her down. She could do nothing but breathe as panic curled in her gut, and concentrated on remaining motionless so she wouldn't draw attention to herself. Slowly opening her eyes, confusion mixed in with the terror as a familiar room came into focus. She turned her head the tiniest amount to see the arm that was thrown over her, and terror downgraded to fear as she recognized the lean musculature of her partner. Even that knowledge didn't release her muscles, and Mary remained paralyzed by the situation. She tried to calm her pounding heart and let go of the fear, but the physical sensations and mental images overrode reason.

_Hands restraining her head and shoulders, pulling her forward. Body trapped between flesh and wood. Mouth on her neck and shoulders._

"Marshall." The word was barely a whisper as her mouth was bone dry.

She swallowed and tried again, "Marshall…wake up." A louder whisper this time, but her partner's weight didn't shift.

Mary took a deeper breath, but still could not get her limbs to obey her brain's frantic orders to move. Concentrating, she willed power to her voice.

"Marshall!"

He grumbled and reflexively tightened his hold and she whimpered quietly.

"Hmm? What?" he mumbled blearily.

"Get off me," she kept her voice calm, but when he didn't seem to respond she upped the volume, "You need to get off me…now."

Her tone spurred him to wakefulness, and he quickly analyzed the situation. In a flurry of motion he released her and scooted backwards as she scrabbled forward to the edge of the bed, finally able to move as his weight shifted off her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry…God, Mare…I'm so sorry," his rapid apologies were filled with regret as he sat up to check on her, sick with worry.

Mary lay on her back with her palms pressed into her eyes, taking deep breaths as the psychologically crushing weight was removed from her body.

"It's all right," she reassured him as her heart rate and blood pressure approached normal, "I just woke up not knowing where I was for a minute."

She looked over at him and he looked crushed sitting there rumpled and half tangled in the blankets. Like he was in pain. She rolled towards him to place her hand on his knee.

"It's okay…really. I had a hard time switching from dream to reality and just needed to get some space."

Marshall wanted to rip his hair out as he watched his partner recover her wits on the other side of the bed. His stomach roiled knowing that her fear had been caused by his actions; that he had touched her in exactly the way he had vowed to protect her from. Even the fact that it was unintentional and subconscious did not soothe him.

"I would never hurt you. Never," he vowed in a low and rough voice.

"Marshall, I know that," Mary replied sternly now, she didn't want him to think she was afraid of him. "I wasn't afraid of you, I was just claustrophobic for a minute there. Panicked a little."

He clenched his fists and hissed through his teeth as he climbed out of the bed. Mary watched him with concern written on her face.

"It's not okay," he replied in a clipped tone, "I'm supposed to protect you, not cause you more pain. That was unforgivable and I can't apologize enough."

"Marshall…" she began, but he just crossed the room to the bathroom and shut the door. She heard the shower begin to run.

"Dammit!" Mary spat, throwing the covers aside and rolling out of the bed. Immediately dizzy as the pain lanced through her, she laid back down to take stock of herself. It was no better today than yesterday, and she worried a bit about the flush she felt in her cheeks. Her body was on fire from her navel to her knees and she knew that probably was not normal or expected, even with the injuries suffered. Marshall had said the suspected pulled stitches were nothing to worry about with the antibiotics, so Mary just rallied her resources and climbed out of the bed more slowly and with better thought out movements.

She had a headache on top of the other aches, and gingerly made her way towards the kitchen to forage for food and ibuprofen. A few minutes later, pausing in mid motion, Mary suddenly realized she had no recollection of the events of the night before beyond leaving her house with Marshall after dinner. Setting the newly poured glass of milk on the counter, she narrowed her eyes and gave intense thought to the last twelve hours. How did she end up in Marshall's bed in the first place? And who put her in her pajamas?

Her partner wandered in the front room, showered and dressed, and Mary pounced.

"If you're done sulking, then maybe you'd care to explain how I ended up snuggled up next to you in the first place?" She stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips.

"You wanted to sleep in my bed. At least that's what you said." He had that look on his face that he used with her when he thought she had lost her mind.

"Really?" she looked unconvinced, "and what else did I say?"

Marshall now welcomed the distraction from his wallowing and hedged, "You don't remember last night, do you?"

"You better fill me in pretty quickly, Slick," she warned, glaring at him.

He shrugged and smiled teasingly, "Well, you professed your undying love for me, willed me all your mortal possessions and then gave me permission to sell your car."

Mary huffed, "I would never give you permission to sell my car, jerkoid." She turned to dig through the pantry, then turned around again to point a finger at him. "Or say the other two!"

Marshall had a secret victory parade in his mind as she had to add the afterthought. His mental glee was diminished, however as she now looked at him with some uncertainty.

"Did you dress me?"

"Don't worry, Sister Mary Margaret, you performed all the necessary pre-slumber activities all on your own. With a healthy bout of giggles."

"I don't giggle," she protested.

Marshall teased her with falsetto giggles and she slapped at him as he tried to get some food ready for breakfast. His mood was improving as he didn't detect any residual fear from her, and he tried to let himself off the hook. She was still moving stiffly, with more winces and grimaces than he was comfortable with, but she assured him she felt fine except for a headache.

The shrill tone of his phone interrupted their breakfast, and Marshall had Stan on the line with a quick hello. There was an issue with one of his witnesses getting arrested, and Marshall needed to head down to APD to spring the still inebriated idiot.

"I won't be long, Mare. Couple hours, tops," he explained as he finished putting on boots and grabbing his jacket.

"I don't want you to come back after you're done, Marshall," she held her hands up, "Get some work done and catch up on your backlogs. I know you've let things slide these last couple days. And check on Tasha. I haven't heard from her since we rescued her from Serge and I want to make sure she's all right. I'm not really in a mind set to deal with her right now."

He stared at her for a moment with a look she couldn't identify.

"Is this because of this morning?" he asked.

"Is what because of this morning?" she replied, not making the immediate connection.

"Do you not want me here because I scared you this morning?" he tried to keep his voice calm, but his mind was a mess. It would just about kill him if she was afraid of him.

"Stop it," she snapped at him, again irritated with herself for reacting poorly earlier, "I told you my reaction had nothing to do with you. To tell you the truth, if it had been anyone else I would've completely panicked."

He didn't look convinced and she became frustrated. "Jesus, Marshall, if you start pussy footing around me too I'm going to go fucking crazy. Don't do this!"

The pleading tone of her voice finally penetrated his brain, and Marshall forced himself to let go of the fear that she no longer trusted him. She needed him to be the calm pocket of normalcy within her storm. Needed to be able to rage against him and not have him flinch.

Marshall nodded and tried to put her at ease, "Okay, I believe you. Are you going to be all right all day? Are you going to behave?"

She gave him a look, "What am I…eight?"

"Your track record when left alone speaks volumes. I don't want to shovel you off the floor somewhere because you thought it would be a good idea to have an adventure."

Mary curled her lip at him and turned to walk towards the bedroom, "Have fun at work today, dear. I'm going back to bed."

The door slammed shut behind her, and Marshall grumbled into the silence as he gathered his things to head on out.

*** *** *** ***

The dream didn't make any sense.

_She stood in the viewing booth of the interrogation room looking through the glass. There was no one in the other room, just chains sitting on the table and Mary couldn't take her eyes off of them. Her heart was pounding and she knew something bad was going to happen. She blinked, and suddenly the lights were out in the interrogation room, and all she could see were two shadows standing next to the table looking down at the chains. Mary's breathing picked up and she started whispering "no, no," under her breath. The shadows didn't move…no one spoke, but she was terrified. A hand fell onto her shoulder and a voice said, "Time to go."_

"No! No! No!" Mary howled, sitting straight up and throwing off the covers as she scrambled out of the bed, falling to her knees next to the night stand. She continued to mutter "no" repeatedly, the word gradually fading to a whisper as her surroundings slowly registered.

She was sweating and her hands were shaking and she slowly leaned back against the bed as the remnants of the dream faded away. It had been the worst one yet, and nothing had even happened. The terror evoked by the shadows caused her to shudder again, and Mary decided she needed to check the house to ease her own mind. Convince herself that there was no one here but her.

Her hands rubbed at her temples after she pulled herself up, head pounding and neck now aching. Her whole body was suffused by a faint, rhythmic throb that matched her heart beat, and she had to admit she didn't feel very well. The lack of sleep and continued physical exertion finally taking their toll, Mary figured.

Moving slowly through the house as her adrenaline remained high, Mary breathed a much needed sigh of relief as she traveled back to the kitchen, assured she was alone. It had only been an hour since she had gone back to bed, and she was now faced with a whole day of nothing. She had hoped to sleep a good portion of it away, but that seemed unlikely to happen now. Deciding on a hot shower, she swallowed two more ibuprofen and headed to the bathroom.

Brandi called her after she had finally settled onto Marshall's couch to watch reruns of her favorite talk show on E! Studying the caller ID with annoyance, she sighed and took the call.

"Hi, Squish."

"Mary? Did you forget to call me with the name of that lawyer?" her sister's voice was hesitant.

Mary slapped her own forehead, levering herself off the couch to retrieve the info from her purse, "Dammit, Squish, I'm sorry. Yesterday got kind of crazy and it slipped my mind."

"Where are you, Mary? Why don't you stay here, with us?" Brandi's whining started to set her teeth on edge.

"Three people in a hotel room with two beds sounds crowded to me," she tried to keep her voice light, "and Marshall and I are sometimes keeping odd hours with this case."

"Oh, well, that makes sense."

Mary could almost hear Brandi chewing on her hair as she thought.

"What, Squish? You want to ask me something, I can tell," Mary sighed.

"I think I know where the drugs went," Brandi whispered conspiratorially.

"What?!" Mary barked into the phone, "When did you figure this out?"

"Geez, Mary, I don't want Mom to hear me. Can we meet somewhere or something?"

"Brandi, you need to tell the FBI about this! You can't keep it a secret," Mary urged, now pacing in Marshall's hallway.

"I can't tell them until I talk to you," Brandi pleaded, "It's complicated."

Mary tossed her head back with a giant sigh. Her sister could make tap water complicated. Resigned to the fact she was going to have to meet Brandi somewhere, Mary decided to pick a place where she could at least get some work done.

"Meet me at my house in an hour, Brandi. We'll figure this out." Mary dressed, grabbed her purse and Marshall's keys and was out of the door twenty minutes later.

She spent the first twenty minutes at her house comforting her crying sister as Brandi had not yet witnessed the destruction left behind by the FBI. Brandi launched into apologies over the whole sordid saga, and within twenty more minutes Mary was crying right next to her younger sister as she listened to the story of Brandi giving her bear to the baby in the shower.

"I'm sorry I gave Biscuit away, Mary," Brandi sobbed, "but the baby looked so lonely, and I didn't want him to be scared."

"That's what Biscuit was for, Squish, to keep you from being scared. It was the perfect thing to give him," Mary sniffled and stroked Brandi's head as they sat together on the ruined couch.

"Were you scared, Mary?" Brandi asked a few minutes later

"When?" Mary wasn't sure if Brandi was still talking about their childhood.

"When Spanky had you. Were you scared?"

Mary remembered the nauseating fear as the gun was pressed to her head, the panic the coursed through her brain when the men held her down the first time, the stark terror when they came back. She swallowed and answered honestly, "Yeah, I was scared."

"They did bad things, didn't they?" Brandi asked in a whisper, tracing a pattern on Mary's sweat pants, "After Chuck was shot and Spanky was mad."

Mary stilled as she considered what to say. She didn't know what had prompted Brandi to come to this conclusion, but she knew her sister couldn't be protected from the consequences of her actions this time.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she rested her head against Brandi's hair, "Yeah, Squish, they did bad things."

Brandi shifted her position, and for the first time, Mary found herself held in her sister's arms as she was the one to receive comfort for a while.

They slowly regained their composure, and Mary turned the conversation back to the business at hand, gently telling Brandi she was not going to talk about her time in the basement anymore. Brandi hemmed and hawed about the information she wanted to tell to her sister, but eventually Mary grew annoyed and laid down the ultimatum; either tell her, or she'd call O'Connor and Brandi could tell him.

Crossing her arms, Brandi sighed, "I think it might've been Chico."

Mary was stunned, "What? Why the hell would you think that?"

"I was there after the motel and I told him all about the drugs and not being able to go through with it. Even told them they were in the suitcase. He tried to help me figure out what to do, Mary, and I think he might have taken the drugs to help me."

"How do you know they were even still in the suitcase when you got to Raph's apartment? They may have been gone before that."

Brandi's eyes slid sideways and Mary sat back with an incredulous look, "Jesus, Brandi, you lied to me again. You told me you last saw those drugs here at the house before I took you to the airport, but you were in them again at Raph's, weren't you?"

"I didn't take any! I just checked to make sure they were there, you know. I was going to take them back to Chuck," Brandi was trying to hold Mary's hands, but Mary shook her off and stood up from the couch to walk to the window.

Her ears were ringing, and the ache in her back and neck continued to plague her. In fact, most of her joints ached now, and her stitches continued to burn. Placing her forehead against the cool glass, Mary again addressed her sister.

"So you still haven't told me why you think Raphael may have taken them."

"The suitcase felt different when I left. And he told me not to worry about anything. That everything would work out just fine."

Mary truly had no idea what she would do if Raphael had taken the drugs. Even knowing he would only take them to help her sister, she couldn't wrap her brain around the possibilities of what he would've done with them. Throw them away? Give them away? She was sure he wasn't going to sell them as the man wouldn't chance losing his visa. Maybe he'd dump them down the toilet, or into the river? How did you get rid of forty pounds of crystal meth, she wondered.

Fisting her hands in her hair, Mary groaned with the knowledge that she was going to have to confront Raph. The personal and legal ramifications of the scenario gnawed at her already unsettled gut. She had already thought about calling him today, seeing as she had four messages from him over the last two days. Not knowing what she was even going to tell him about her abduction, now she had to figure out how to pin him down about the drugs.

"Mary?" Brandi called softly from the couch as her sister's silence stretched on.

"I need to call Raph, Squish, go ahead and clean up some stuff around here."

Before Mary could dial her phone, it rang with an incoming call from her partner.

"What do you want, Marshall?" she snapped as she was preoccupied and her head was pounding.

"Top o' the morning to you too!"

"Can it, idiot, I'm not in the mood."

"Where are you?" His question focused her intently on the phone, suddenly alert.

"In the family room, where are you?" She was hoping to God he didn't say his house.

"You sound stressed and…odd. Why don't I stop by in about twenty minutes and bring you some lunch?" Marshall baited the trap. For some reason, he suspected Mary was not standing in **his** family room.

Mary gave the phone a sly look and called his bluff, "Whatever jerks your johnson, pal. Don't expect me to get out of my pj's though."

Marshall was mostly convinced and reluctantly conceded after a long pause, "On second thought, I'll stay here and keep working. That way I can come home earlier."

"Uh huh…so did you call me just to chit chat, or was there a purpose to this interruption?" Mary droned impatiently, anxious to call Raph.

"I called to tell you they want Brandi down at the FBI office tomorrow at four for an interview," he began, talking over her as she started to interrupt, "and you will be allowed to sit in. You can't ask any questions, but Stan threatened to stall unless you were able to be there."

Mary opened her mouth again to speak, then closed it with a pensive stare. Brandi would have to tell the truth tomorrow, and unless Mary could rule out Raph's involvement today, the FBI would be knocking on his door in short order. Whether he took the drugs or not, she had to get over there to talk to him and figure out how to keep him out of the clutches of O'Connor.

"Mary? You there?" Marshall called her through the phone.

"Just thinking about a few things," she replied distractedly, then ended the conversation abruptly, "I've got to look up some stuff. I'll get back to you later."

Marshall stared at the phone and slowly narrowed his eyes. She was up to something, he just knew it. He didn't know why he thought she would slow down after her collapse the night before; she never let injury hinder her efforts before so why should she start now? Launching himself back into his paperwork, he mentally organized his tasks so they would be completed as soon and possible and he could go do Mary Shannon damage control.

* * *

***** Mary wants to help Raph?? How did I allude to that concept in one of MY stories?? LOL! Please keep reading and please keep REVIEWING! *****


	9. Shattering

***** It all starts to crumble around her. One problem solved, but as the barriers fall, Mary doesn't have anything else to hold her up. *****

* * *

_**If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.**_

**- Sun Tzu**

* * *

Mary rubbed her eyes as she walked out into the backyard to stand in the cool breeze while she waited for Raph to pick up the phone. Her eyeballs felt dry and scratchy, a fitting compliment to her other aches and pains. A remote part of her brain was trying to tell her she was getting sick, but she didn't have the time or luxury to think about that right now. If she could just get a few good, solid hours of sleep, Mary was sure her body would right itself. After she talked to Raph she would head back to Marshall's and try to find a way to avoid the dreams.

"Mary! I'm so glad you called! I was starting to worry about you." Raphael sounded quite relieved.

"Hi Raph. It's been a really interesting past few days, and I need to talk to you about a few things," Mary replied, slightly unsettled at the sound of his voice.

"Oh," he responded hesitantly, "what is going on?"

As much as she would have liked to have this conversation over the phone to get it over and done as quickly as possible, Mary knew she would need to see his face in order to read the non verbal cues so essential when questioning a suspect.

"_Suspect?_" Mary shook her head slightly as she mentally questioned herself. "_When did I start thinking of him as a suspect?_"

"Mary?"

She realized her mind had drifted off and reached up to rub the back of her neck as she continued reluctantly, "Can I come over there? Or are you busy?"

"Of course you can come over," he quickly agreed, "I can make some lunch if you like?"

She smiled sadly at the eagerness in his tone. He always tried to please her.

"Sure. That would be great, thanks. I'll be over in about a half hour."

"I will be looking forward to seeing you, querida!"

Mary cringed a bit with the endearment as she hung up the phone, and her reaction bothered her. Raphael had no idea what had happened to her and she did not relish the task of having to tell him. Rational and irrational brain battled over whether to reveal the assaults. He was her lover, and it only made sense to tell him. But she knew she would not be able to submit herself to any intimate contact for quite a while, and by the time her psyche healed, there would be no trace of the physical wounds. Unfortunately, there wasn't much more substance to their relationship besides sex, so lack thereof would be a definite sign of something amiss, and Raph would start asking questions.

If she told him about the rape, his protective instincts and cultural mores would flare up and he would be on the warpath. He would likely become extremely clingy, she surmised, and Mary had a rule about clingy; peel it off and stick it to someone else. She either stood on her own two feet or not at all. Raphael would coddle her, pity her and ultimately she would walk away in disgust.

Mind made up, Mary turned to head back inside and give Brandi instructions before leaving for Raph's apartment. The world tilted slightly and she grabbed for the stair railing, missing it by a fraction of an inch and essentially falling up the stairs. She barked her shins on the concrete and the jarring fall resonated through her whole body.

"God damn, son of a bitch," she hissed as she just balanced on her hands and knees until the zinging pain passed.

Regaining her feet and her momentum a few minutes later, she limped inside to find her sister. Brandi was folding her clothes in the bedroom.

"Hey, Squish," Mary began as she leaned on the doorframe, "I'm going to go talk to Raph. See if we can figure this whole thing out. Agent O'Connor wants to talk to you downtown tomorrow."

Her younger sister's panicked looked spurred her to hold up a hand and offer reassurance, "Don't worry, it's just an interview and I'll be there. You'll have to tell the truth though, so I want to find out if you're right about the drugs. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?"

Brandi quickly nodded and seemed to try to stand a little taller, "I'll be fine. I'm going to clean this up for you a little bit. Maybe Mom and I can both come over later to get it livable again."

"That would be great…really great," Mary smiled tightly at the offer.

"Mary, you look really tired," Brandi frowned, "Are you okay? Are you sleeping?"

Mary shook her head imperceptively and sighed, "I'll be fine. It's just going to take some time. I gotta go, so be good."

Loading herself into the Probe with moderate difficulty, Mary finally rolled out of her driveway in her own car.

*** **** *** ***

The nagging sensation that his partner was up to something continued to poke at his subconscious mind all morning, and Marshall found himself rushing to finish forms so he could start on the three witness visits he had scheduled this morning. Two of his, and Tasha for Mary. Stan had asked about Mary and told Marshall he had hired a new office secretary, but other than a having a superficial conversation with his boss, Marshall tried to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

Finally giving in to his gut, he called her. Twice. Three times. She wasn't answering and his concern ratcheted up to outright worry. Just as he had decided to head home, she called him back and he answered the phone with relief.

"Why aren't you answering the phone?" he demanded.

"I usually don't take it into the shower with me, you know," Mary teased, "but if you really want to talk to me while I'm naked…"

"Ah, uh…no. That's okay," he stuttered, not quite prepared for the teasing or mental image.

Mary was actually sitting fully clothed and completely dry parked outside Raph's apartment. She finally called Marshall back after turning off the car so she could give her full attention to the conversation, and she now grinned at her partner's flustered words, warmed by his embarrassment for some reason. Something she'd have to think about sometime. Wanting to get inside, Mary tried to hurry the call along.

"Again…was there something important, or had you just called to relive your suspicious little mind?"

"The second one, actually," Marshall drawled, "and maybe it's a good thing as I believe I hear traffic in the background."

"I'm outside, you moron, of course you hear traffic. It's a nice day, if you hadn't noticed, and I thought I'd try it out." Mary hoped she could keep lying as fast as he kept asking.

He couldn't see her, and Marshall really needed to see her in order to know if the woman was lying. She had absolutely no verbal tells, but would light up like a jeans clad Times Square if she lied in person. At least to his familiar eyes. Smiling evilly, Marshall suddenly had a plan.

"Hey Mary," he asked casually, "what color is the door on the house across the street?"

"_Jerk_," she thought, smiling as she knew the answer anyway. "It's blue, like always."

"_Gotcha!"_ he mentally crowed.

"Where are you?" Marshall demanded, "Because you are not in my front yard. They painted the damn door four days ago."

"_Crap."_

"Relax, Florence, I'm just running an errand or two. Nothing exciting." Mary kept her tone light and casual.

"In my truck? With the stubborn clutch?" he grimaced, "That cannot be beneficial to your healing process, I'm sure."

Mary was losing her footing in the game of mental gymnastics as her bleary eyes and throbbing head made it hard to concentrate.

"No, nitwit, I have my car." She hung her head as the words left her mouth, knowing she just screwed up.

"So you've been to your house already? What did you do this time, redecorate the living room? Maybe built an addition onto the garage?" Marshall was standing up now as he growled into the phone. Angry.

"Listen, asshole, I never agreed to stay home all day, and I can't sleep, so I need to get out and keep myself busy." Mary was worked up to angry also.

"Mary, you need to get off your feet," he lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry across the office, "Walking around and sitting in a car is only going to aggravate your wounds, which are already bothering you. How can I get that through your thick skull? You're not going to heal unless you rest." He made sure every word of the last sentence was said very clearly.

"I can't just lay there and think about things, Marshall," her voice was just as low and intense, slowly increasing in volume until she ended with a shout, "I don't want to remember and I don't want to analyze it, which is exactly what happens when I'm not busy doing something. I fall asleep only to be terrorized by dreams shortly thereafter, and then I'm jumpy for hours. What do you want me to do?"

The yelling made her head pound again, and she groaned into the phone.

He just didn't know what to do for her, and her low groan nearly broke his heart. She was trying to run from herself and losing the race. He sat back down and leaned on his desk.

"Mary, tell me where you are. I'll come and get you and we'll figure something out," coaxing her softly.

"I don't want you to come and get me. I just want everyone to leave me the fuck alone," she rested her head against the side window as she ground out the words.

"I told I wouldn't do that, remember? Told I wouldn't let you go through this alone."

Mary stared at Raph's apartment door as Marshall's words settled in her chest, warm and inviting.

"I have to go. I'll call you later," Mary whispered as she hung up.

"Mary!" he barked, then cursed at the quiet line. Marshall stood quickly and kicked his chair against the desk. He noisily gathered his keys and coat, then stomped out of the office to visit his witnesses, muttering under his breath the whole way.

Stan watched him from the door to his office, shaking his head slowly as he gazed at the back of the angry man. Obviously, he was going to have to impose some rules and force them both to get into therapy, otherwise they were liable to shoot someone…most likely each other.

*** *** *** ***

Raph answered her knock and immediately pulled her into a big hug. Mary tensed and gave him a perfunctory pat on the shoulders before pushing and wriggling away, pain evident on her features.

"Raph, I'm really not in very good shape right now. I got a little beat up and I hurt everywhere, sorry."

He looked at her carefully now and reached out to take one of her arms, getting a brief look at her wrists before she jerked it out of his grasp.

"Dios mio, Mary, what the hell happened?" Reaching for her again, he dropped his arm as she leaned away from him.

"Can we go inside? It's getting warm out here," she asked, wiping the sweat off the back of her neck.

Raph looked confused as he stepped aside to let her in, "It's only seventy degrees, Mary, and cloudy."

Mary didn't really hear him and continued awkwardly down the stairs to gingerly sit on the end of the couch with her legs curled under her. Raphael followed her, sitting next to her and again taking her hand.

Mary had forgotten how touchy feely this man was…her Latin lover. Always the sweet one, he enjoyed the physical closeness that was probably one of her least favorite things. Especially now. Trying to just relax as she could never consider him a threat, Mary let him gently stroke her hand.

"You're covered in bruises," he observed with concern as he looked at her face and arms, "Please tell me you caught who did this."

Mary nodded and smiled wanly, "They've been taken care of. It was a huge mix up, but there's still some outstanding issues that I needed to come over here and talk to you about."

"You think I know something about this?" Raphael looked incredulous and hurt.

Mary had meant to launch into this conversation with a little more subtlety, but she really felt ill at this point and just wanted to finish the visit and go back to Marshall's.

"I think you might, yes," she held up her hand as he took a breath to protest, "but it's something you may have…done…without knowing the ramifications of your actions."

Raph looked completely confused at this point, so Mary started at the beginning.

"You remember when I found you here with Brandi?"

"Mary, I told you nothing happened. She was very upset and we just talked. I don't know why you won't believe me," he reached over to rub her arms and she shrugged him away, continuing to be uncomfortable with his touch.

"I believe you. I didn't know what all was going on then. It's complicated." Mary sighed and looked down at the couch, then plowed forward the only way she knew how.

"Raph, I know Brandi told you about the drugs in that suitcase and how she was in big trouble and had to find a way to get the drugs back to Chuck. I know the whole story. What I don't know, and what I desperately need to know, is if you took those drugs from that suitcase."

She was watching him as she talked, and the way his gaze skittered away from hers told her everything. _"Shit."_

Mary was still looking at him when he raised his head, and she tried to remain calm as she spoke, "I don't want to get you into trouble. I know why you did it, but I have to know what you did with the meth. You can't lie to me about this, Raph. I can't help you if you lie."

Mary was remembering a conversation just like this one a day ago, and wondered how many times she had said that very thing to a witness or their families. Always warning people not to lie to her, always expecting them to ignore the warning, always strangely disappointed when they did. Raphael surprised her.

"I took them. I just wanted to give her a chance to start new, you know. Get her away from Chuck and all that craziness. I didn't know it was going to cause problems," his voice wavered and he stopped to swallow, "I never would've done it if I thought you would get hurt. Please believe me!"

"Where are the drugs now?"

Raph looked a little embarrassed, and Mary squinted at him, "Raph?"

"I poured them all into the line marking dust at the ballpark. They're probably scattered all over the field by now."

Mary just stared at him with her mouth slightly open, amazed at the simplicity and pure genius of his solution. Maybe he was more than just a pretty face.

"What if someone slides into second base head first?" she asked.

"I guess he'll probably think it was the best game of his life," Raph shrugged with his answer.

Mary laughed, then put her hand over her mouth to stifle it. If the rest of the situation hadn't been so awful, she would've been able to enjoy the humor of this part. But now she needed to lay down the rules.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do. The FBI is looking for those drugs right now, because this blew up into me being kidnapped and held hostage, then ended with two dead men and a broken drug ring." Mary paused to let that all sink in, watching as Raph's expression turned to horror.

"Brandi and I were the main suspects until yesterday, but the FBI still thinks Brandi knows where the drugs are. She thinks you took them, but I'm going to tell her you didn't, and that they were still in the suitcase when she left. There are only two people on this planet who know you took those drugs, and they're both sitting on this couch. Don't fuck it up, Chico." Mary looked at him sternly, all business by the end of her speech.

"You would do that for me?" he asked, surprised.

"God help me, I don't know why, but yeah."

Mary slowly stood, ready to leave now as she had no energy to stay and discuss anything else. Raph would have to wait until another day to learn the fate of the relationship.

He stood also, stepping into her to take her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers. The kiss surprised her, and she allowed herself to take the comfort and thanks he was offering as her mind said it was okay. But as he moved in closer, his arms traveled around her back and slowly slid down to rest on her hips, just skimming the top curve of her buttocks. She stiffened and he pulled her against him reflexively.

Too many sensations rushed through her to separate reality from memory, and Mary just knew she had to get out of his embrace and out of the apartment. She pushed him back forcefully and he let her go in confusion. Holding her hands in front of her, Mary backed up a few steps and took a deep breath to say her goodbyes.

"I have to go now, but I'll call you in a couple of days."

She turned to walk up to the door as swiftly as she could as he called to her.

"Mary? What's wrong?"

As she opened the door to let in the daylight, the knot in Mary's chest loosened and she could breathe again. Too close…too soon.

"Raph, please. Just wait for me to call you, okay?" Mary watched him nod and slipped through the door to close it behind her.

Trembling and dizzy, she jogged to the car and poured herself into the driver's seat as she felt the tears gather. She could feel Raph's hands on her, and it provoked a shudder as she remembered the feel of other hands...

"No. I'm not going to do this. A simple kiss is not going to make me fall apart." She turned the key with a vicious twist and willed the beat up car to life. Her hands shook on the steering wheel, and Mary now realized every other part of her just felt numb. Pulling out, she turned the car towards Marshall's and tried to tame her raging emotions. Raph's face flashed into her mind, but then she was back in the basement and staring at the malicious eyes of her attackers. Mary began to cry in frustration and just didn't see the stop sign.

A blaring horn jarred her back to the present, and she swerved to avoid the minivan in her path. Narrowly missing the other car, she immediately pulled over and parked crookedly on the curb, cursing as she shut off the car. Placing her head on the steering wheel with a whimper, she just breathed for a few minutes before she pulled out her phone.

"Come get me," she demanded faintly after Marshall answered.

Her tone alarmed him, "Are you all right?"

"I don't know."

Having just pulled back into the parking lot of the Sunshine Building, Marshall easily maneuvered the SUV back towards the road.

"Where are you?"

"About three blocks north of Raph's apartment, just off Osuna." Mary hung up.

If there was a way remaining for Mary to cause Marshall even more concern, that was just it. His mind now racing with terrible scenarios involving her ball player, he disregarded the speed limit in his haste to reach her.

The car was hard to miss, especially as it was parked halfway up the curb, and Marshall pulled in behind her, jumped out of the truck and jogged up to her door.

She didn't even seem to register his presence as he opened the door, her hands gripping the steering wheel and her forehead resting on top of them as she wept. Outwardly, she looked okay, and he didn't see anything out of place, but that didn't necessarily mean nothing had happened.

"Hey, Mare, I'm here," he pitched his voice low as he crouched down next to her, "tell me what happened. What happened at Raph's?"

She slowly shook her head against her hands, and Marshall thought she meant she wasn't going to tell him.

"Don't say no, Mary. If he did something you need to tell me right now. You're not going through this again," he pleaded.

"Raph didn't do anything, Marshall," she hoarsely reassured him, "He was fine. It's me that's falling apart."

For whatever reason, Marshall's presence just amplified all the jumbled emotions and Mary found herself disintigrating, words tumbling out of her mouth as she sobbed.

"I can't do this anymore! I can't think straight…I can't sleep…I can't even let anyone touch me. My mind races a thousand miles an hour, then comes to a screeching halt and I don't know what's going to happen next. I see shadows in my dreams, feel hands on me and hear voices in my ear and I'm paralyzed with fear. I hurt in places I shouldn't hurt and I'm tired of trying to act like everything's okay just so everyone around me doesn't have to be uncomfortable. I keep saying I'm okay…but I'm not okay, and I'm scared I never will be. I don't want to be like this anymore, Marshall, but I don't know what to do."

He had a hard time keeping up with her scattered thoughts, a hard time seeing her so broken down and defeated, and Marshall reached in to gently loosen her hands from the steering wheel as she finished talking but continued to sob. His own eyes filled with tears as he held her shaking hands in his.

"I'll help you, Mary…whatever it takes, I'll help you get there. You'll make it because you're strong, and you're a fighter, and I won't let you forget that. I won't let you lose yourself, I promise."

"'Kay," was all she could hiccup as Marshall carefully urged her to pull her legs out of the car and sit facing outward on the seat. Mary moved listlessly.

He noticed she had goosebumps, and reached up to push some of the hair out of her face. The warmth of her forehead and flush in her cheeks confirmed his suspicion and he swore under his breath.

"You're burning up, baby. I'm taking you to the ER," he stated as he helped her out of the car.

Mary didn't even care, and just concentrated on standing with wobbly legs. "Okay."

He doubled his efforts as her simple agreement scared him more than anything.

* * *

***** I'm exhausted. She wears me out. Finally, though, she admits to herself that she need someone to help her...and of course...Marshall is there! Please REVIEW!! *****


	10. Gathering

***** This is a rewrite of the original Chapter 10. I have decided to continue the story due to a large number of requests and the fact that Mary did not feel as though she got to tell the rest of her story. I, of course, give in to her every whim! If you're just joining me, or have forgotten what the story is about, it can be rough at times with the topic of rape and scenes of violence. I don't think it's more that PG-13, but will continue to monitor *****

* * *

"**Come to the edge, he said. They said: We are afraid. Come to the edge, he said. They came. He pushed them and they flew." **

**-- Guillaume Apollinaire**

* * *

Marshall watched his partner nervously as he drove to the hospital. She lay facing him in the reclined passenger seat, eyes open but just staring and blinking at nothing, arms lying limply in her lap. Shivering suddenly, Mary softly voiced her thoughts.

"I thought of you, you know. Tried to think about what you would do…how you would plan. It helped distract me."

Marshall was dragged back into the interrogation room with Spanky, remembering the man's words and the white hot fury he had felt.

"…_she must have been yellin' for you…"_

Reaching over, he placed his hand on her forehead and cheek, again concerned with the fever. His jumbled thoughts were impossible to sort, but he tried to somehow apologize.

"I should've been able to come when you called. I should've been there."

"You were. You kept telling me to hang on…so I did," Mary replied distractedly, reaching up to capture his hand and hold it between hers, "I guess you kind of saved me."

Marshall couldn't trust his voice at that moment, and he just held tightly to her hands as they approached their destination.

Mary perked up slightly as they entered the ER, stepping away from her partner to stand on her own and fill out the forms, shrugging back into the façade like you would a familiar jacket. She didn't want to sit in the chairs, so Marshall propped himself against a wall and let her lean back on him, gently supporting her with an arm around her waist.

She wondered why the contact didn't bother her this time. Whether the fever and exhaustion had just made it too difficult to care, or whether it was because the man than held her was Marshall. The one person who had managed to step inside every boundary she tried to set and stood firm. Dared her to push him back out again. Thwarted every one of her attempts when she tried.

"Why do you do it?" Mary asked.

He peered down at the back of her head in confusion, "Why do I do what?"

"Put up with me and my shit every day. Clean up my messes and try to head off the next ones. Why do you stay with me?"

"_Because I love you,"_ was the simple answer in his mind, but it was neither the time nor place to reveal that now.

"You're the best partner I've ever had, even with all the shit, and I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone. You're my best friend, and you're worth a thousand messes."

"…_worth a thousand messes."_ The phrase echoed in her head and Mary let her head fall back on his shoulder in gratitude. She had value, at least to someone, and that meant more to her right now than he could possibly know.

Before the conversation could continue, Mary was called back. Once she was shown into a room, she banished her partner back to he waiting room despite his protests. She needed her privacy, and Marshall reluctantly conceded to her requests after he also started to receive a stony glare from her nurse. Two against one. He waited restlessly, at one point dozing off, but was rewarded by hearing his name called an hour and a half later.

Her room was darkened now, and he entered to find her asleep on the stretcher covered by blankets. They had started an IV with some fluids and what looked to be an antibiotic, and Marshall realized she must've been even more worn down than he had anticipated. Not wanting to disturb her, he quietly moved a chair to sit next to the gurney and just watched her.

He must have dozed off, because he startled and almost reached for his weapon when a hand fell on his shoulder. Turning to see a slightly alarmed doctor, Marshall smiled to relieve the tension and whispered an apology. Smiling now, the doc motioned for Marshall to follow her outside.

"Are you Marshall Mann?" the young woman asked, continuing when Mary's partner nodded affirmatively, "Miss Shannon gave me permission to discuss her treatment with you, but I don't really want to wake her right now. Is it okay with you if we talk without including her?"

Marshall thought it was the best idea he had heard all day, considering he might be able to get a word in edgewise this way.

"You're aware of the injuries she sustained almost four days ago during her abduction and rape, so I'll just update you on what's going on now," she began, flipping up a page on her clipboard, "She developed a localized infection of some of her external sutures that seems to have escalated to a minor systemic infection. We're going to treat that with three doses of IV antibiotics and then continue her on oral antibiotics for three weeks. She's dehydrated and anemic, likely due to poor nutrition, but fluids and a better diet should correct that. Otherwise, exhaustion has just taken its toll."

Marshall sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, "She's been difficult to manage for the last few days. A very stubborn woman."

The doctor shrugged one shoulder and smiled as she replied, "So she said herself. Told me not to blame you or I'd end up eating my stethoscope."

Leaning in a little closer, the doctor made sure her voice didn't carry, "Her injuries aren't healing at all at this point, and if she doesn't rest and take care of herself, she's going to keep developing infections and end up with fairly bad scarring. She needs to stay off her feet for a few days and no driving for two weeks. I just wanted you to know what she was told."

Nodding in complete agreement, Marshall appreciated the doc's candor even if the information he received made him wince.

"I'll keep her down, at least for a little while."

"We're going to keep her tonight in order to complete the IV antibiotic therapy, but she can do home around noon tomorrow."

"Does she know that?" Marshall asked, wondering if the hospital had enough restraints to keep her here.

"She does," the doctor grinned with her reply, "and she told me that if you call someone named Stan, she'll walk home in the hospital gown with her ass hanging in the breeze."

Marshall chuckled and made a mental note to evade his boss' calls for a little while. Thanking the doc, he ducked back into Mary's temporary room to settle back into his chair and wait for the transport.

Mary slept for the rest of the evening, not disturbed by procedures or dreams, and when her eyes finally opened she had to take a few minutes to reorient herself to her surroundings. It was a hospital room and she was in a hospital bed, IV in one arm and a call light held loosely in the other hand. A soft snore off to her right caught her attention, and she turned her head to smile faintly at the sight of her partner asleep in the recliner next to the window. His feet hung off the end.

She didn't know how long she had slept, but her mind and body had finally seemed to settle, leaving her clear of thought and dulling her pain to a manageable ache. The last day was so fuzzy and disjointed that she was surprised she remembered it at all. She did, however, remember the frank talk given to her by the ER doctor. Soundly chastised for her actions, Mary promised to take her recovery more seriously. Not only did the doc paint an ugly physical picture, but Mary hadn't realized Marshall's psyche could be hurt as well. That was the deciding factor.

Her ER doc had ordered a psychiatric consult for her, and Mary resigned herself to the visit in the morning. Her pride and dignity already hung in tatters, pieces snagged and ripped off through the trials of the last twenty four hours, and she figured a few more bits strewn about by a shrink picking at her wasn't going to make a difference. She had to get her life back on track. Haul herself out of this pit and crawl back towards normal. It was going to take more than a good dose of pain meds and a splash of bravado. If she didn't get help, she'd just continue to spiral into dysfunction, dragging her family and her partner with her.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Marshall called to her from the recliner as he woke himself and saw her eyes open.

"It's not morning, numbnuts," she teased back, forcing a small smile.

"Oh good, name calling, you must be feeling better."

Mary just grinned and raised her eyebrows, not really having the energy to throw something at him. Marshall stood to move her tray table within reach, fussing about the room for a fresh jug of water and the food that could be saved from her dinner tray. Mary watched him care for her and ducked her head, rubbing her forehead as she suddenly felt tears prick her eyelids.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed near her knees.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tracing a portion of the hem on the blanket and hoping he wouldn't pry right now.

Marshall was confused, "Sorry for what?"

So much for not prying. Mary was still too tired to argue and gave it to him straight, "All this…" she splayed her hands open, "…this bullshit. For dragging you into my drama once again. For treating you like crap when all you're doing is trying to help."

He scooted closer and took her hands in his. Her apology had stirred up his ire.

"Not a single, damn bit of this is your fault, Mare. You didn't start it, you didn't ask for it, and you certainly didn't sign on for the fallout. I won't pretend it hasn't been hard on me, but that pales by comparison when I think of how agonizing it must be for you. Don't you dare apologize for surviving this mess and digging through to the other side."

He didn't want her to think he was here out of obligation or sense of duty. She would start to edge him out if that was the case, and Marshall's desire to keep her close had not lessened. If she shut him out it would be a battle. The war was already raging on her face at his words, and he held his breath until he saw her sigh and relax her shoulders.

"I can't promise you it's going to get any easier from here on out, you know," Mary began, tracing his fingers with her own, "but I'm going to try to be aware of how it affects everyone else…not just me."

"You have to think of yourself first for a little while, Mary," Marshall urged, knowing she could worry about others to the point of neglecting herself again. "You have to rest. Have to concentrate on healing as a first priority."

"I know," she nodded as she voiced thoughts from and earlier mental debate, "but my physical injuries are going to be healed up and forgotten before all the mental shit is sorted out. That could drag on for a while, I hope you know that."

Marshall realized she was giving him an out and sighed as he looked at her hard, "Your scary mental shit hasn't run me off yet, I doubt an extra dose here and there would scare me away."

Mary gave him a grateful smile, then remembered she needed to try to reestablish some independence.

"I need to go home tomorrow, Marshall. Need to get back into my own house and sleep in my own bed."

"I know, but we have to get it cleaned up first. So how about this; stay with me for three or four more days while I draft your mother and sister to get the place straightened and back into functional order. You can rest quietly at my place while all the activity is going on, then you'll have a clean and orderly house to go back to."

His plan made sense, and Mary couldn't think of a single, rational argument. She could've tossed irrational arguments at him, but had neither the desire nor energy.

"Deal, but I'm not sleeping in your bed," she raised her eyebrows at him for emphasis.

Marshall smiled at her, knowing he'd do whatever she wished.

"Of course not. I'll leave my door open, though, in case you need to hear me snore."

Mary smiled back, for the first time encouraged that things might turn out okay. Marshall seemed to read her mind and leaned in to squeeze her hand; giving her the usual directions.

"Stay on my left and I'll be one step back. It's worked for years in every nightmare we've waded into. We'll get through this."

* * *

***** And the journey continues. I thank roar526 for her unending support and words of encouragement to get me going again after I was sucked dry by month of mayhem on LJ. Please let me know your thoughts, concerns, suggestions, desires...no...not THAT kind!! Please click the button and leave wonderful REVIEWS!! *****


	11. Fuming

***** Again trying to move forward. Mary remains exhausted, Marshall remains on edge. *****

* * *

_**In all things, I have sought clarity. I face the troubles and problems of life and death willingly. Virtue, integrity and courage are my priorities. I can be approached, but never pushed; befriended but never coerced; killed but never shamed.  
**__**- Yi Sunshin**_

* * *

No matter what idyllic paintings covered the walls, or how cleverly the furniture was arranged, hospital waiting rooms could not be completely disguised as to their true identity. Fabrics picked for their ability to camouflage stains and repel fluids, wallpaper depicting either discreet icons of pleasantness or splashes of color meant to soothe and distract; even a small garden just outside the window. All you had to do was close your eyes to know where you truly sat; the smells of flowers and air freshener not sufficient to mask the whiff of blood, aroma of disease and occasional sour tang of death.

Marshall hated waiting rooms. Hated the twinge of uneasiness that formed in his belly whenever he sat in one. Depending upon the circumstance, the twinge was made up of anger, fear, guilt…a combination of all three. He didn't want to remember what had awaited him at his destination down the halls over the years. A diseased and dying childhood friend, a bullet riddled partner, a loved one who held his hand without recognition. Images swirled through his brain as he slowly paced the small alcove tucked across from the nurses' station.

"Mr. Mann?" He was startled out of his reverie as the nurse called him with that questioning but gentle tone they all used, "Mary says you can come in now."

Adjusting to the present, Marshall took a deep breath and shrugged off his melancholy as he stepped quickly towards Mary's room. No death, disease or fear at the end of the hallway this time, just a general wariness as he wasn't foolish enough to guess her mood. A small smile formed on his lips as he approached her door. Mary didn't need to be in the hospital for him to be wary of her greeting; the uncertainty of sudden death or emasculation existed every day with that woman.

She was thoughtful and agreeable when he had left her last evening; ultimately insisting he go home and get a good night's sleep. They had watched a show together while Mary picked at some dinner, but by the end of that hour she was quiet and staring off into space while he regarded her with concern. Her color remained too pale and her hands trembled slightly when she reached for her water glass. Not knowing the reason behind her growing silence, he had asked her if she wanted him to stay. A badge extended visiting hours without much protest. She patted his hand, called him a girl, and shooed him from her room with a small smile, saying she didn't want to see his ugly mug until noon the next day. The parting smile hadn't quite reached her eyes, and Marshall knew that pain, exhaustion and the events of the day had not yet taken their full toll. He wanted to think she was going to take advantage of the quiet and privacy to sleep, but his gut told him her night was anything but restful.

**** **** ****

Mary was now intimately familiar with the topography of the ceiling in her room. She had studied each tile in minute detail as she sought any distraction from the whirling thoughts that would not allow her mind to settle throughout the night. Sleep had seemed a peaceful respite for a few hours after Marshall left, but the dreams clocked in by midnight and the nausea from the antibiotics joined the early morning discomfort by two. Between jerking awake in fear and lurching into the bathroom to empty her stomach, she had likely only slept three to four hours. Her nurse had given her some anti-nausea medication, but Mary suspected its beneficial effects were negated by the images in her dreams.

If it had only been a replay of the attack in the basement, she could've handled that. But those events were interwoven with Marshall's shooting and Brandi's tear stained face as they dragged her to the executioner's chamber. The whole mess became a warped, terror laden nightmare that would've made Hitchcock drool. Mary gave up even trying to sleep by sunrise, and her nurse was so concerned that he had the doctor appear at her bedside before breakfast.

Mary had refused the sleep meds, knowing from experience those would wipe her out for days, but agreed to fill her own prescription of stronger pain meds instead of continuing to swipe her partner's. The doctor apologized for having to give her the third dose of the IV antibiotics, knowing it would exacerbate her nausea, but her infection had to be nipped in the bud now before it became a more serious issue. She assured Mary the oral drugs would be much more tolerable. Feeling as though she had little choice as the to direction of her treatment, Mary just asked for a cold cloth to put over her eyes as she lay back in the bed and tried to think coherently about the plan for the day ahead of her.

Breakfast was cold and pushed aside by the time the psychiatrist entered her room mid morning, and Mary was slowly counting the drops of pale, yellow liquid falling into her IV tubing as she waited for the last dose of medication to infuse. She was calling Marshall as soon as possible to get her out of here. The entrance of the young, petite doctor caused her to moan in remembered defeat_. "Shrink. Right. Great."_

"Good morning, Miss Shannon. I'm Dr. Weibert...Anne," the woman greeted her with concern in her voice, "You look like you've had a rough night." She held out her hand and Mary shook it reluctantly.

"I guess you want a prize for such an accurate observation? Maybe I'll just sit here and look at you and you can tell me how I feel. Less aggravating for me, and ultimately less painful for you," Mary replied unenthusiastically.

"If I was that good, I'd be practicing in some posh office far from here with clients that paid cash," the doctor said with a half smile, "Nope. You're going to have to talk."

Settling into a chair, the young woman opened the file folder she was carrying and asked Mary a few background questions interspersed with the usual get-to-know you pleasantries. Quickly growing tired of the chatter, Mary held up her hands and interrupted.

"Stop. I just want to get the hell out of here so skip the whole rapport building nonsense, ask me the questions, and I'll give you the short version." Mary looked back over at the still half full bag of medication and sighed.

Dr. Weibert studied Mary for a moment, noting the pallor and half lidded eyes. Her new patient was exhausted and irritable and she had to agree that brevity would be best at this point.

"I read the portion of your statement that was released and reviewed your ER record, so the details are fairly clear in my mind. What I want to talk about this morning is what happened to land you back in here?"

"Jesus, why don't they just publish the damn thing and review it on Oprah?" Mary spat, again irritated by the circulation of her statement and ignoring the doctor's question.

The doc seized onto this glimpse of anger. "You don't like people reading about your rape?"

"Of course I don't! Who would?" Mary threw her hands in the air, then looked down at her pajama clad knees as she muttered, "I knew I shouldn't have given that statement."

"Why did you?"

Mary didn't expect that question. She rolled it around in her head for a few minutes as the doctor sat quietly waiting for her answer. What had possessed her to give a detailed account of the rape to the unknown officer sitting across from her three days ago? Why didn't she just leave it out? She knew the men were dead, knew there would be no need to testify or prove the act had occurred. She had already avoided saying anything to Bobby, Stan or Marshall, so why have it recorded for them to read later? Mary resorted to the logical response.

"I'm a law enforcement officer. I have to give a truthful account of events," she snapped. "The damn lawyers eat you alive if you lie or leave shit out."

The doctor watched Mary pick at the Kleenex box next to her on the bed, the tired woman avoiding her eyes. "No one would've known if you had left that event out. You could've chosen any story for what happened while you were left alone with the kidnappers. Why did you tell the truth if you didn't want anyone to know?"

"I wasn't thinking too clearly at the time," Mary sneered with a huff, "Why the hell does it matter now?"

Mary studied the doctor's shoes as the silence stretched out. Suddenly, the dual tone of her phone sounded, and she reached over to the nightstand to retrieve it. Silencing the ringer, Mary whispered, "Jesus…" as she saw her sister's number displayed. Jaw clenched in aggravation, Mary dropped the phone into her lap, momentarily lost in thought.

"Mary," Dr. Weibert called her name to recapture her attention, "what's more upsetting to you…the rape itself, or the fact that people know about it?"

Mary just stared at Dr. Weibert with a confused look; tried to comprehend the direction the questioning was taking. "What the fuck kind of question is that? Of course the assault was upsetting. More than upsetting!"

Sitting forward, Mary began to tear the Kleenex box apart into little pieces as her voice rose in volume, "I can't sleep because of it. I can't move because of it. I'm back here because of it. And the worst thing…my boss and my partner are treating me with kid gloves because of it. Watching me. Making sure I'm "okay". I feel like some sort of freakish invalid."

"Equally upsetting, then?" Dr. Weibert clarified.

Mary thought about what she just told the doctor. Her phone demanded attention again and the caller ID glowed with Brandi's number. Dropping her head into her hands with a groan, she squeezed her eyes shut as her jumbled thoughts were bringing on a pounding headache.

"Do we actually have to talk about this today?" Mary asked wearily. "I figured we'd exchange cards, shake hands and I'd make an appointment. I'm not ready for mental gymnastics yet."

The doctor leaned over and placed her card on the bedspread. "I can see you have too many distractions today. Get some rest. Let someone take care of you. Call me by the end of the week or I'll be calling you. I think we have a lot to talk about."

"_Yeah, me getting my duty release signed,"_ thought Mary with a sigh. She plucked the card off the bed, quickly cut her eyes to the doctor with a curt nod, then lay back on her pillows to tune out the world.

*** *** *** ***

Marshall wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the door to his partner's room, but he certainly didn't expect to see a pale and haggard Mary sitting on the side of the bed looking murderous. She pinned him with a glare that promised hours of sulking misery and rose from the bed to meet him before he could get two steps into the room.

"Let's go," she insisted flatly.

Marshall stood his ground, not entirely sure she wasn't making an escape attempt and roping him in as an accomplice.

"Hello to you, too. What's the hurry?" He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Does your nurse know you're leaving? Because they usually don't let people just walk out on their own."

"My IV is out, my prescriptions and discharge instructions are in the bag, I've waited twenty minutes for the stupid transport person, and the hurry is that I'll puke in the truck if I'm not near a bathroom in about a half hour." She blew out a breath as the brief speech taxed her.

They stood silently for a moment while Marshall regarded Mary as she regarded his chest.

"Mary," his soft intonation coaxed her eyes to his face.

Her gaze was weary; shadows under her bottom lashes only adding to the look of sadness that was revealed before she quickly set her jaw. Marshall thought she looked worse than the day prior and wondered what kind of medicine they were practicing these days. He was glad he was taking her home.

"Get me out here," she softly urged, and he stepped aside to let her pass.

Her wobbly gait and frequent grunts of pain did nothing to assure him of her well being, and by the time they had reached the nurses' station Marshall had commandeered a wheelchair. He convinced her to sit in it with a threat to carry her instead, and Mary was loathe to admit she probably wouldn't have made it to the front doors on her own two feet. She kept her head down for the whole ride to the pickup area, not wanting to look at anyone, and not wanting to know if anyone was looking at her.

"I'm going to go get the car. You'll be okay here by yourself?" He knew the words were inflammatory as soon as they left his mouth and his partner's shoulders tensed.

"Do I look like an idiot child to you?" Mary growled, eyes glittering from under her brow.

Marshall held his hand up in front of himself with a grimace. "You know what I meant. I'll be right back."

Mary watched him escape her wrath as he trotted across the parking lot. The shrink's words kept coming back to swirl around in her brain. '_Why did you tell the truth if you didn't want anyone to know?_' She remembered the relief she had felt when she realized Stan had told Marshall, the weight lifted off her shoulders as she paced his kitchen and revealed details that nearly made her gag. She wanted him to know…willed him to know, but didn't want to tell him. It made no sense, and Mary resorted to rubbing her temples in an attempt to stop the throbbing that increased as she dwelt on her confusion.

She heard the tires of the SUV roll up to the curb in front of her, and as she made a second attempt to lever herself out of the chair, Marshall's hands gripped her elbows and supported her as she stood. Mary tried to jerk one arm out of his grasp, but he was latched on tight.

"Stop," he rumbled, low and commanding. "Please don't fight with me. I know you want to go, and I know you don't want help, but you look like the living dead and I'll be damned if I'm going to watch you nurse a head wound in addition to everything else because you're too stubborn to accept help into the car."

He was relieved when she hissed a quiet, 'Fine', and let him partially muscle her into the passenger seat. Satisfied that she was semi-comfortable and belted, he strode around to let himself in and pulled slowly out of the lot and into traffic. Her eyes were closed, and Marshall allowed himself to be absorbed into his own thoughts while they drove in silence.

He had called an old college friend the night before. Frat boy turned psychiatrist, the man had helped him better understand the maze of tangled emotions and misguided beliefs that Mary now stumbled through. He wanted to be able to anticipate her needs; to be able to comfort her effectively. It had never affected him personally before, never felt like a knife to the gut when he had heard other victims' stories. He also needed to know what to do with the anger and pain that welled to the surface every time he was reminded of the assault.

There were two things he learned from the conversation that stuck with him: He needed to stay with her the next few days. Normal, everyday events could suddenly turn bad if something triggered her memories. She needed to have him there as her advocate; run interference if she had to get away or take a break. He would stay close, if for nothing but to give her an outlet for venting anger or frustration. And he had to be patient. Not only with her, but with himself. Progress could be quickly followed by huge steps backwards; a dance with complicated patterns and rhythms. Expect the unexpected and predict the expected. It was going to be a long haul.

"Thanks for coming to get me early," Mary offered softly.

Marshall raised his eyebrows with some surprise. "I didn't realize I had an option in that regard. You were fairly specific about your expectations on the phone."

She grunted a small chuckle, "You were coming anyway. I just decided to speed up the process."

He looked over at her, again noting her bedraggled appearance. "You look like you went a few rounds with the night staff. Did you get any sleep?"

A sigh, then she shifted position in order to look at him. "A couple of hours. The medication made me sick. Spent a good portion of the wee hours worshipping the porcelain gods."

He winced, "I'm sorry."

Mary shrugged a shoulder with her reply, "Should get better. And anyway, I believe you promised me rest and relaxation for the next few days."

As if to poke holes in that exact plan, Mary's phone rang. "And…maybe not," she muttered as her resolve to ignore her sister for as long as possible faded away.

"Hi, Squish," she answered curtly, not noticing Marshall's glare at the cell phone.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, the only outward sign of his displeasure. He hadn't seen Brandi since the morning they questioned her at the hotel room, and he was hoping to continue that trend until tomorrow when he would invite her and her mother to Mary's house in order to start the clean up. No good would come of this phone call, he was sure. One ear open to monitor the call, Marshall kept his eyes on the road to appear uninterested.

"No, I didn't forget," Mary insisted, "I've been really…busy…for a little while and just didn't get to your calls."

"_Forget what?_" he wondered.

"No, I can't pick you up. I'm not supposed to drive," she admitted through gritted teeth. "I'll meet you there."

The interview with O'Connor. Marshall realized his plan for the afternoon was going to involve a large amount of negotiation and a current life insurance policy. He had hoped Mary would either forget the event or blow it off, because he wasn't planning on taking her over there.

His partner's voice lowered and she glanced quickly his way before turning her head slightly towards the door, "No, he didn't. They were still there when you left." Listening now. "I don't know, Brandi. I have absolutely no idea. I can just tell you what he said."

A few more benign comments and assurances, and Mary disconnected with a thoughtful look on her face.

"Well?" Marshall prompted, curious as to the story he was going to get.

"Well what?"

"What was that about?"

"I need to be at Brandi's interview by 3:45 this afternoon. I need to talk to her first." Mary studied her phone in her lap and Marshall grew suspicious.

"About?"

She had no idea what to tell him. The truth would put him in an awkward position, but any lie she made up while this exhausted would crumble with even a casual inspection. Her brain was just slow, and Mary sat in silence for a moment too long.

"I see," he ground out, angry now. "More secrets. That's just great. Twelve hours in hell, bruised and broken, hospitalized and demoralized, and you just go right back to keeping her secrets for her. Un-fucking-believable."

"I can't…" Mary's attempt at explanation was cut off as Marshall continued his rant.

"Look at yourself in a mirror, Mary, and then tell me her secrets are worth keeping. Think about covering for her yet again when you jerk awake soaked in sweat later tonight from yet another nightmare. Wonder what it must be like to avoid any consequences for your actions the next time you can't walk through a crowded squadroom because your legs are shaking too badly." He looked over at her to see her staring at him with wide eyes.

"Stand her up, shove her in the right direction and let her go. You've had enough and she needs to see that. Tell her you'll be there when the dust settles, but you're not going to shield her from the storm anymore."

She didn't know what to say. His anger was unexpected, and the flat, furious tone he used was unsettling. His words made sense, and her gut urged her to follow his suggestion, but years of habit and obligation bound her emotions and she balked.

"Jesus, Marshall, I can't just abandon her."

"I didn't say abandon her," he snapped. "I'm talking about treating her like the adult she supposedly is. Her decisions are her own, and you need to let the chips fall where they may when she screws up. As long as she thinks you're going to run to her rescue and make everything right, she'll just keep making your life hell. You can either let that continue to happen, or you can stand up for yourself."

His voice had risen slightly and he took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, "And, honestly, if you can't do that right now, then I feel like I need to do it for you. I won't let her drag you under anymore than she already has at this point."

Mary didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?"

Marshall pulled into the driveway of his house, killed the engine and turned to face his glaring partner with a stony countenance.

"I will not have you subjected to O'Connor or your sister today. I will not watch them tear off any more pieces of you," he paused for a split second. "You're not going to that interview this afternoon."

* * *

***** Really?? Somehow, I'm guessing that statement is not going to go over well. I don't blame Marshall for snapping. We'll see whether that life insurance policy gets cashed in. Please keep reading, and of course, please keep REVIEWING!! *****


	12. Trusting

***** Sometimes it takes a fight to soothe the savage beast. They're so tired. *****

* * *

"_**I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the **__**warrior**__** for his glory. I love only that which they defend**__**" **_

_**-- **__**J.R.R. Tolkien **_

_**It's a difficult thing to truly know your own limits and points of weakness.  
- **__**Hagakure**_

* * *

Marshall wrenched his door open as Mary gaped at him, slamming it shut and marching around to the passenger side as he mumbled to himself. He had been hoping for a civilized conversation about the interview today. Envisioned himself giving a wise and compassionate explanation of all the reasons Mary should stay at his house and rest while he took her place at the Federal Building. Instead, they were going to have their usual cage fight, metal folding chairs and all.

He jumped back as Mary swung her own door open, the woman tumbling out of the SUV with a look of anger on her face that that had him wincing before she opened her mouth.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" she ground out while regaining her footing. She slammed her door shut and whirled to face him. "The hell I'm _not_ going to that interview. There is no way I'm letting O'Connor cut Brandi up into bite sized pieces and feed her to the dogs."

Mary waffled between being furious and being hurt. Somehow, she felt as though Marshall had turned against her. He knew how important it was for her to be there for Brandi. How could he so callously suggest…no, command, that she not go to that interview when he knew she depended upon him to get her there.

Marshall saw the unshed tears; read the hurt that tried to hide under the glaring anger. He was not going to back down. Leaning in, he urged her to listen to him.

"Mary, no one is going to feed anyone to the dogs. I'll be there. I'll go in your place and make sure the interview is fair and impartial."

She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head with a curl of her lip, "You'll take my place? Oh, well then, that's perfect. Sure…the man who wants to see my sister burn in hell right now is going to protect her from the very people who could make that happen."

The sarcasm nearly dripped off her tongue, and Mary threw one arm in the air as she shook her head and continued her rant, "Fair and impartial? Really, asshole, you think you can be either of those things right now?"

"And you think **you** can?" he fired back, staring her down.

Motion one yard over caught his eye, and Marshall noted Mrs. Bradach standing on her porch with her little dog, watching them.

"Let's take this inside, Mare." He reached out to take her elbow and she yanked it out of his grasp.

"Don't touch me!"

"We have an audience," he growled in warning, "either come inside with me or sit in the truck by yourself, but I'm not having this conversation with you out here."

Mary now glanced over at the neighbor, said a few choice words and turned to stomp toward the house. The partners were silent as Marshall opened the door, but when the barrier to the outside world was reestablished, Marshall managed to beat Mary to the punch with the continuation of the argument.

"You're sleep deprived, in pain, sick and emotionally unstable right now," he began, holding up a finger as she opened her mouth to protest, "and all those things just about assure a blow up between you and O'Connor or you and Brandi. The FBI would have a field day with that. Brandi spilling her guts and implicating herself all over the place, and you crawling up O'Connor's ass in order to strangle him the hard way."

Mary took special exception to the emotionally unstable accusation. "You think I can't conduct myself professionally because I've had a rough couple of days? This is exactly what I was telling the shrink today. Don't you dare treat me like I can't do my fucking job!"

"This isn't your job!" he shot back. "This is you putting yourself into a situation that can only backfire and make things worse. A situation that you have no business being in, no matter how emotionally obligated you feel."

For some reason, Mary felt trapped. His reasons were valid, but she felt as though giving up would somehow betray…someone. Her argument took on a pleading tone.

"God dammit…she cannot take on O'Connor. She can't handle what he dishes out. Jesus, Marshall, I eat men like that asshole for breakfast, but Brandi has no defenses against that!"

Lowering his voice, Marshall delivered a kill shot, "And I suppose you'll handle him just like you did the other morning?"

He was sorry he said it as the words left his mouth. She was the only person who could make him this angry, and when that emotion was mixed with worry he found it was hard to hold his tongue. Mary stilled and dropped her eyes and Marshall prepared to apologize, but she spoke before he could get started.

"That was different and you know it," her voice was low and rough, "I wasn't ready for that. He won't catch me off guard again."

"Yes, he will. That's exactly what he wants to do, Mary. Provoke you into a situation where he comes out looking like the golden boy and your sister is looking at fifteen to twenty five for whatever charges they've brought to the table." Mary rolled her head and sighed. Marshall, sensing a crack in her resolve, stepped closer as he continued, "You won't help Brandi by being there today. You'll be a liability and I know you see that."

Whatever further words Mary intended to say were suddenly swallowed as her stomach picked that time to rebel. Marshall saw her color fade and leaned forward to help in some way, but Mary side-stepped and quickly trotted to the bathroom as she covered her mouth with her hand. Barely arriving in time, she hip-checked the door shut as she fell in front of the toilet and lost whatever meager contents remained in her gut.

Too much energy had been spent fighting with Marshall, and she found herself unable to regain her feet after the wave of sickness finally passed. Wetting a washcloth under the bathtub faucet, Mary wiped her face and hands and leaned back against the wall contemplating the fact that she had puked more in the last four days than she had in years. These mad dashes to the nearest toilet needed to end. She was tired of being sick, tired of hurting, tired of fighting…tired of being tired. Deciding to just hide away from the world for a brief respite, she turned on the shower and let it warm. Marshall would just have to wait for her.

*** *** *** ***

He stood outside the bathroom door and listened to the silence. Knowing she'd been sick, and having little to no confidence that she'd feel any better for it, Marshall was concerned when Mary didn't emerge. He thought back to that first night she stayed with him after being rescued and he had found himself in the same position; wanting to offer comfort, but not quite sure if he should.

"_Why are we still fighting?_" he wondered wearily. After three days of living on emotional pins and needles, Marshall had hoped to restore some well needed circulation to his soul. He didn't know how long he would be able to watch her beat herself against the wall. It was exhausting. The periods of calm were just long enough that he would start to hope for relief, then the storm would rage again; often more powerfully than before.

The shower was turned on, and he let out the breath he had been holding while turning to walk toward the kitchen. Mary liked to think in the shower. It was often where she went after a particularly trying day on the road to calm down and become more reasonable. He hoped that's what she was doing now. Crossing the fingers of both hands, the silently praying man set out to make some lunch.

Mary stood under the flow of warm water and sighed. The soothing spray felt wonderful against sore muscles, healing wounds and a scalp itchy with perspiration. Clean was something easy to come by in the last few days, but hard to maintain. As soon as the rivulets of water dried, she would remember the touch of dirty fingers and sweaty skin. Her clothes would feel too tight and her skin would crawl with remembered abuse. And it never mattered how hard she scrubbed, she could still smell them.

Her body began to protest the heat and upright position, and Mary shut off the water and stepped out onto a towel. The fogged mirror reflected a fuzzy outline of a woman, and Mary stared at it with indecision. She had avoided looking at herself up to this point; dressing in the shadow of an unlit room or pointedly turning away from the mirror. _"Look at yourself in a mirror, Mary, and then tell me her secrets are worth keeping" _Her partner's words echoed through her mind. Setting her shoulders, she used a towel to wipe the reflective surface clear and sucked in a breath.

Bite marks. Bruises. Scrapes and cuts. From clavicle to knee. Mary whimpered as she realized she couldn't even remember where she had gotten some of them. Significant marks that should trigger a memory; some sort of recall to explain the insult. Maybe it was a good thing that there were some blanks, because if what she did remember was awful, then what she had forgotten must've been worse. Turning, she looked over her shoulder to glimpse her back and had to press her lips together in anger.

They had no right to do that to her. She would have scars from some of the injuries, and no one should be able to mark another permanently against their will. Finally unable to look any longer, Mary wrapped a towel around herself and slipped out of the bathroom and into the guestroom. A wave of dizziness forced her to lay on the bed, and as she stared up at the ceiling fan's lazy circles her mind replayed more of Marshall's earlier words.

… _putting yourself into a situation that can only backfire…_

…_you'll handle him just like you did the other morning?..._

… _That's exactly what he wants to do, Mary. Provoke you…_

A short lock of hair tickled her neck with the slight breeze of the fan. Mary was reminded of Marshall unconsciously playing with a similar piece the other night as they fell asleep, the rhythmic motion soothing and comforting. He was waiting for her right now, likely preparing something for her to eat and worrying about the argument. He was right. No matter how much Brandi thought she needed her there, Mary knew she would not be able to remain undisturbed by either the topic or the predictable actions of O'Connor. Her reflexes were slow, her filters sloppy and she flinched too easily. Easy pickings for O'Connor and no help at all to Brandi.

Rolling off the covers to pull on a t-shirt and sweatpants, Mary ran her fingers through her hair and headed out to find her partner.

*** *** *** ***

The smell of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup never failed to transport him back a few years to Portland. Tucking families into WITSEC was always an extra challenge, and this family had a brood of four year old triplets that insisted on eating grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch every day. Jared, Justin and Jeremy. Even Mary was cajoled into making her version of the culinary delight, the kids clapping for the crustless triangles she served. It was probably one of the most entertaining transfers they had ever done. Whenever he felt the need to view the world through the fresh eyes of a toddler, Marshall made the orange lunch.

Covering the dishes to keep them warm until Mary decided to join him, Marshall then wandered over to stare out the window into the quiet back yard. The grass needed mowing. There was a loose fence board. A thin coating of pollen covered the concrete slab of the patio. He thought about using some of Mary's downtime as an excuse to do some work around the house.

He sensed her a moment later, walking up to stand behind him; silent, but close enough to touch if he stepped backwards. About to turn around, Marshall was caught off guard when she leaned forward to rest her forehead between his shoulder blades. He heard her sigh with the contact and just waited.

"Portland."

Marshall reached around and found her hand, her fingers curling around his. "The J-crew," he replied.

She grunted, "I never could tell them apart."

The silence stretched out again as Mary rolled her head so her cheek rested on his shoulder blade.

"Do you swear to me you won't let them drag her under?" Mary whispered just loudly enough for him to hear. Her breath was warm on his back.

An offering of trust and an unspoken apology. Again within the calm.

"I promise," Marshall rumbled, "but I have to go in with all the facts."

She closed her eyes. There was no telling what kind of broken, worthless heap she would be right now without the support of the man she leaned against. The warmth of his skin through his shirt, his fingers holding hers; she took more comfort in those things that any words anyone could say. Trust.

"I'm not just trying to protect Brandi, Marshall. I'm trying to protect you." Another heartbeat. "Raph took the drugs."

* * *

*****Wow...I can't believe she told him! But she's letting him go to the interview...trusting a little more. And maybe everyone can finally get some much needed rest. Thank you all for your excitement, encouragement and fabulous REVIEWS!! Loving them :) Keep clicking the link! *****


	13. Posturing

***** The cat's out of the bag and Marshall carries some weight on his shoulders. O'Connor just loves to make tactical errors. *****

* * *

_**"There would be no passion in this world if we never had to fight for what we love."**_

_**– Susie Switzer**_

_**"Character - a reserved force which acts directly by presence, and without means."**_

_**– Ralph Waldo Emerson**_

* * *

Marshall straightened, turned and took her gently by the shoulders. "What? What do you mean he took the drugs? When?" Mary's gaze was steady and her expression resigned.

She began telling Marshall the story, trying to deflect any blame from Raph and keep her partner's anger to a minimum. His expression ran the gamut from surprise to anger to puzzlement. Finally, he shook his head in frustration before she was done and turned to attend to the warmed food on the stove.

"He was trying to help, Marshall. He had no idea this was going to snowball into the cluster it is now," Mary explained.

"If he had left the damned drugs alone…"

"Everything that happened would still have happened," Mary finished abruptly, interrupting his attempted argument.

Marshall stood with hands resting on the counter, peering down at the stove. She was right. Raph's actions neither initiated nor exacerbated the events that occurred. Anger that had bubbled to the surface now slowly evaporated as he began to think.

His silence spurred her continued reasoning. "Technically, other than brief possession, nothing he did could even be defined as a criminal act."

"That doesn't change the fact that we now have this information. I don't mind lying to your sister, but I can't lie to the FBI." Marshall stirred the soup and poured it into bowls.

"That's one of the reasons I didn't want you to have to do this. I didn't want to put you in this position. Didn't want any of this to fall onto you." She watched his profile as he prepared the meal. Not angry, but she could tell his mind was engaged. Mary dropped her eyes to study the carpet and mentally sighed with the thought of another argument.

Marshall was dissembling and reassembling the information given to him by Mary in order to determine which parts were workable. There had to be a way to use what they knew to their advantage without revealing any facts to the FBI…or Brandi. He placed the sandwiches on the plates and grabbed some napkins. Turning to put the plates on the counter, his eyes fell on Mary still standing by the window.

Shoulders slightly slumped and eyes downcast; bruised wrists and arms wrapped around her middle, she looked lonely and tired. Marshall mentally kicked himself for allowing his priorities to again become skewed. If he felt like he was running on empty, Mary must feel as though she'd already walked twenty miles through the desert looking for a gas station. He really didn't know how she did it.

"Hey," he called to her softly, meeting her gaze as she looked up. "Go crawl onto the couch. We'll eat over there."

Mary nodded, winced and slowly made her way to the other room. The pain meds she had taken this morning at the hospital were wearing off; body stiff and achy from both illness and abuse. Her stomach finally seemed settled, but she still didn't have an appetite. The angry energy from the fight had completely dissipated, and she was irritated to see her hands shake as she pulled at the blanket draped over the cushions.

"Damn it," she hissed.

The plates were set on the coffee table, and Marshall's hands removed the blanket from her grasp as he gently rebuked her, "Here, let me get it. You've got it all twisted."

For some reason, Mary's struggle with that blanket made his chest hurt. He saw the frustration on her face, the trembling hands, and the cold fury he harbored for cowardly men roiled in his gut again. Tamping it down for now, he relieved her of her foe and tucked the blanket carefully around her, making sure her feet were covered too. Her silence made him look up at her, catching her steady, but unreadable gaze as she stared at him for a moment longer before her eyes skittered away to land on the food.

"That looks better than anything I've seen in the last twenty four hours."

"You know I slaved all day," Marshall teased, shaking off the odd moment.

"Sit down and eat, nitwit. We need to figure this Raph angle out." Mary was eager to pull his attention away from her. There were things she needed to think about later.

*** *** *** ***

"Raph's statement is hearsay coming from you; rumor, at best, coming from me. I know I wouldn't deem it worth a grain of salt without some evidence if offered to me in a case, so I see no reason to bring it to the light of day for O'Connor." Marshall was partially speaking to himself as he cemented the logic of their decision. Legs resting on the corner of the couch as he leaned back in the chair.

The dishes sat on the coffee table, crumbs all that were left. Once Mary tasted the food she had to hold herself back from devouring her meal too quickly. They had tossed ideas back and forth in their usual way of brainstorming while they ate. Sentence fragments and plot bunnies slowly falling into place until an agreed upon plan emerged.

"You sure there's no evidence at his place?" her partner asked.

Lying on her back with her knees up, Mary's eyes traced a crack in the ceiling as she thought. "Nothing. Sure, dogs could probably detect a trace, but he's almost as much of a neat freak as you, so even that's doubtful. I'll wash those towels, so no one will be able to run a match there either. Assuming anyone ever made the connection."

"You know, if O'Connor wasn't such an asshole we could just tell the story and be done with it," Marshall stated, irritated by the exercise and wary of ramifications.

Mary was silent as she wrestled with her conscience. She knew this bent her partner's sense of duty the wrong way, and now she was regretting the decision to tell him.

"What's going on over there?" he asked quietly, recognizing her silence for what it was.

"I can't ask you to do this. Can't expect you to withhold information on a case. I don't want you to end up resenting my sister…or me…because I asked you to keep your mouth shut. I just thought I could minimize the collateral damage."

Marshall's legs hit the ground with a thump and he leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees. Staring at her until she looked at him, he then spoke slowly, "I don't plan to withhold information." Continuing swiftly as Mary's eyes became alarmed, "I highly doubt anyone is going to ask me directly if I know where those drugs went. No one's looking at me, nor can I see a reason they ever would. So, unless I'm sitting in a chair and have taken an oath to tell-the-whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth-so-help-me-God, I see no reason to **offer **that information to anyone."

A slow smile spread across Mary's face. If anyone could use semantics to rule the world, it would be her partner. "God, I truly love you like a $10 whore this time."

He laughed, rising to clear the dishes. "You'd pay more and you know it."

*** *** *** ***

Mary watched a show while Marshall ran out to pick up her prescriptions and grab some groceries. He found her falling asleep on the couch with his return, urged her to take her meds and ushered her into the guestroom. He sat on the side of the bed after she got comfortable and reached over to brush a piece of hair out of her face. She looked at him questioningly.

"Just so we're clear," he began, holding her gaze, "if O'Connor tries to build a case against you for those missing drugs, I'll hand him your sister and Raphael. Gift wrapped."

She stared at him for a moment before nodding slightly. "Fair enough."

"Sleep," he commanded as he stood and moved to the door. "I'll take care of things and wake you for some dinner later."

Sleep quickly consumed her.

*** *** *** ***

Brandi and Stan knew he was coming in Mary's place, but they didn't alert O'Connor. Marshall didn't want to give the agent any time to change his game plan. He wanted to see what O'Connor had prepared to throw at Mary. Brandi wasn't happy about the change in plans, but Marshall's serious demeanor squelched all attempts at protest. He discussed the interview with her for a short while before O'Connor arrived, hoping the instructions he gave the nervous woman actually registered in her brain. She reminded him of Mary in some ways; the nervous fidgeting and occasional facial expression, but he could never see Brandi becoming the woman that Mary was. She didn't have the ferocity and sense of inner strength that his partner radiated, and was certainly lacking loyalty and courage.

"Is she okay?" Brandi suddenly asked as they sat outside the interview room.

"She's worn out. Needed to get some rest," Marshall replied vaguely, not sure how much Brandi knew.

"I know what happened. Not the details, you know, but that…it…happened," Brandi stumbled over the words a bit, uncomfortable with the topic.

Marshall looked over and stared at her until Brandi dropped her eyes, his expression never changing. "No more, Brandi. She's more than paid the price for your screw-ups…past and present. This is the end of it."

The young woman nodded vigorously, blinking back tears. O'Connor and another agent stepped off the elevator and Marshall rose. He placed his hand under Brandi's elbow to assist her to her feet and smiled slightly at the FBI agent's puzzled glare. Advantage, Marshall.

"Where's Mary?" O'Connor barked.

"Inspector Shannon had more pressing issues to attend to. I'll be monitoring the interview in her place." Marshall emphasized Mary's title and the fact that O'Connor's interview was low on her priority list. He was rewarded by a slow redness that crept up the agent's neck and nodded at Brandi as he continued, "Miss Shannon is the party you requested to speak to, and as you can see, is here and ready to cooperate."

O'Connor stared at them both for a moment longer, vibrating with tension, then suddenly moved to open the door to the room. "Of course. We should get started then."

The group found seats around the large, metal table; Marshall setting his chair back a bit so he would be in Brandi's line of sight. She was to look at him before answering any question and give him a chance to protest or indicate that she should go ahead. He hoped she wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess. He couldn't keep the FBI agent from asking any questions he wanted, but Brandi could refuse to answer anything; she wasn't formally charged at this point. Marshall hoped to keep it that way…at least for today. Mary would mail his testicles to China if they arrested her sister after this interview.

The questions were benign at first; background information about Brandi and Chuck's relationship, identification of people Brandi had seen her boyfriend associate with and the events of the aborted buy at the hotel in town. O'Connor's voice was even and non-threatening, and Brandi remained calm and composed; watching Marshall for her cues. She truthfully stated she had never told Mary about the drugs, had no idea where the drugs were now, nor who had taken them from the suitcase. She had been away from the house most of that day, and anyone could've taken them. She was teary eyed as she confirmed her participation in transporting the drugs across state lines initially, but she never tried to transfer the blame or make any excuses under Marshall's steady gaze. Marshall almost relaxed.

O'Connor began to show Brandi pictures of the players, including Chuck, and the young woman's attention was now drawn away from Marshall. Brandi became more upset, especially as the agent added pictures of the basement where Mary had been held, and Marshall finally spoke up.

"O'Connor, what's the point of the slideshow? Do you have questions for Miss Shannon, or are you just so twisted you like to make girls cry?"

The agent pretended not to hear him and pushed the pictures of two men into Brandi's line of vision. "These two men raped your sister that night, did you know that?" Brandi began to sob and O'Connor talked over her, "Repeatedly. Over several hours. Because you wouldn't hand over the drugs, Brandi. Wouldn't hand them over because you had already gotten rid of them, right?"

Marshall's blood pressure had shot up a good twenty points. Not only was O'Connor badgering Brandi, but Marshall knew the man had planned on showing Mary those pictures; to shock her with photos of her attackers. It was a tactical error.

"That's enough," he stated loudly enough to stop O'Connor in mid-sentence and make Brandi jump. Standing, Marshall moved over to Brandi's chair. "Brandi's answered all your questions more than once. We're done here, and if I ever catch you with these pictures around Inspector Shannon…" the warning was clear.

O'Connor turned red and stood to match the marshal's height. "We're not done till she tells me where the damn drugs are! Why didn't you turn them over, Brandi? Why didn't you take them to Spanky when he called looking for them?"

Brandi wailed, "Because you took my phone after he called and wouldn't let me leave the house! I couldn't call him back! I didn't know the drugs were gone, but I couldn't call him back to meet him and I thought Mary was dead!"

The sobbing woman laid her head on the table, shoving all the pictures to the floor in a fit of anger. Marshall recognized the face of the man he had shot upstairs. Remembered stepping over the dirty, sweat caked body on his way downstairs. It disgusted him to think of that man's hands on Mary and he squeezed his eyes shut briefly to banish worse images. Blowing out a slow breath, he set his sights on O'Connor.

"We're leaving. If you have any further questions, legitimate questions, for Miss Shannon, you should probably contact her lawyer." Marshall helped Brandi to her feet and to the door.

"Marshall," O'Connor called, "I'm going to find those drugs. They're going to tell me where they are eventually."

Marshall prodded Brandi into the hall then turned back to the agent. "You've got Spanky, two dead rapists, a dead dealer and testimony to tie everything up into a neat package. Why do you have such a hard on for these drugs?"

"Why do you have such a hard on for your partner?" the agent shot back with a sneer.

Marshall's face lost all expression and O'Connor took a step back even though the marshal hadn't moved. A moment passed.

"Pray that I don't see you again before you leave town."

The threat echoed through the room after Marshall departed. O'Connor wisely chose to remain within the four walls until he heard the elevator doors close.

* * *

***** Yeah, that probably wasn't the wisest come back on O'Connor's part. So, M/M keep the secret and Brandi's (hopefully) been put in her place. Do you think Mary's getting some rest?? Right. This chapter gave me fits, please let me know what you thought!! REVIEWS! *****


	14. Breaking

***** Thoughts to now and thoughts to the future. The past sneaks up on you. *****

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"**'What do you fear my lady?' **

**'A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of ****valor**** has gone beyond recall or desire.'****" **

**J.R.R. Tolkien (Eowyn)**

* * *

Mary stood with her back to the steaming spray, palms resting on the cool, tan shower tiles in front of her. Eyes closed, she practiced some deep breathing techniques she had learned at some stupid seminar in some stupid town. At this point, she deemed the breathing exercises stupid also. They weren't helping. Head falling forward, Mary willed the impending tears away; opening her eyes a minute later instead to watch them fall, indistinguishable from the drops of water running off the rest of her body.

Three hours. It was the longest stretch of time she had slept before the nightmares intruded. It wasn't long enough, and her tears were partly caused by the frustration of exhaustion. She wanted to sleep so badly; wanted to remain in that quiet void for just long enough to gather her mental defenses and be ready for the next insult. It wasn't happening, and the next blow would land before she was done reeling from the previous one. Add to that the anticipation for yet another and she felt disoriented…poised for flight but unable to see the threat.

She had awoken from this last dream on the floor next to the bed, arm tangled in the sheets and head throbbing from where she had apparently hit it on the night table. Her throat felt raw, and Mary wondered if she had been yelling. She was glad to find Marshall absent. Her dignity really couldn't take another blow at this point. The dream was already a fading wisp of memory, but her body throbbed anew and she needed to wash away the sensations. Tears for that too.

Suddenly gritting her teeth, Mary slapped the shower wall with a yell, her voice echoing off the hard surfaces in the room. The loudness surprised her, but she was oddly pleased with the power behind it. It was something she could do with full strength and no fear of ramification. Taking a deep breath, she screamed at the top of her lungs for as long as she could. Then again…and again. Yelling at no one in particular, yet ticking off her foes with each exhalation of sound. Finally, thinking of no else who deserved her fury, her screams turned into groans and she turned to let the now lukewarm water wash over her face and neck. Her lips curved in slight amusement; they should teach that at the stupid seminars.

Mary wandered out into the living room after drying off and donning a pair of pajamas. No reason to get dressed. Even if she wanted to go somewhere, Marshall wouldn't let her she was sure. She couldn't go back to sleep yet, the anxiety from the nightmare still floated through her veins and her mind would only create more terrifying images for that to attach itself to as soon as she began to dream. Some activity other than watching TV is what she searched for.

It was close to five in the evening, and Mary knew Marshall was sitting with Brandi in an interrogation room trying not to brain O'Connor…if he hadn't already. She couldn't imagine the FBI agent took kindly to her absence, and wondered if he had tried anything stupid. This single minded pursuit of the missing meth was puzzling. There really wasn't enough of the drug to make the bust federally interesting, and since the FBI had wrested custody of Spanky, she had trouble connecting the dots as to why O'Connor was still sniffing around. She hoped Stan was looking into it.

There was too much noise in her brain to think about the convoluted case for any sustained period of time, and Mary rubbed at her now sore temple as a headache attempted to form. Remembering Marshall's trip to the grocery store earlier, Mary shuffled into the kitchen and investigated the contents of the pantry and fridge. She grinned as she decided upon an activity. Supper.

A pot of vegetable soup simmered on the stove forty five minutes later, and as Mary cleaned up the last of the dishes an enormous yawn nearly cracked her jaw. The darkening sky outside the window caught her attention, and she started to worry her bottom lip. It would be dark in about a half hour, and for some reason she didn't want to be alone. She could call Marshall and see how long he was going to be, but then snorted at herself and shook her head.

"Jesus, maybe I ought to just ask him to bring me a blankie and a pacifier too," she berated herself.

She liked the dark; would often sit in her dark house and think about her life. The only time it was calm and quiet. The darkness had always been a soothing escape, somehow a place of near reverence. In fact, Mary rarely flipped on the lights when she got home at night, preferring to slide through her house and into her bed without revealing the details of what she couldn't see. Less to deal with that way.

Now the thought of a darkened room came with the vision of the glowing end of a cigarette and the smell of smoke. Men standing in the corners and watching her…waiting. She knew they were there, could hear them whisper to each other; called them out to fight then wished she would've remained silent. The darkness itself hadn't changed, it was what lurked within that haunted her now.

There were suddenly too many shadows in the house. Pushing away from the kitchen counter, Mary stepped quickly to each room and turned on the lights. She didn't want any shadows in any doorways; no threat would approach without her seeing it clearly. Knowing her actions were ridiculous did nothing to keep her heart from pounding nearly out of her chest until the goal was achieved. She picked up her cell phone as the streetlights buzzed to life outside, the indigo sky stretching nearly to the horizon. Turning it over and over in her hands, Mary assured herself she could dial it quickly if she needed to. Which she wouldn't need to. She needed another activity. She needed Marshall to come home.

* * *

Marshall drove Brandi to her hotel in stony silence. He knew he should put the young woman's mind at ease; let her know she performed well and that Mary would be pleased, but O'Connor's words and intent just stuck in his craw. He was concerned the man would try to work around him in order to get to Mary. Marshall blew out a frustrated breath.

"I didn't mean to get so upset at the end there," Brandi tossed into the silence. "I just…well, I wish I could go back and do it differently."

Marshall chose to let the obvious argument go as Mary's sister looked pathetic. "You did fine, Brandi. O'Connor's just trying to push everyone's buttons…including mine."

He pulled into the hotel lot and parked, turning to address Brandi directly. "Don't take any calls from him, or any FBI agent. All communication needs to go through your lawyer or through me. Clear?" Brandi nodded.

"Can I call Mary later?" she asked.

Marshall clenched his jaw then forced himself to relax. "I'll have her call you when, and if, she's awake."

Brandi realized this was the best answer she was going to get and nodded again as she opened her door. Marshall walked her to the door, giving her final instructions before he left.

"The story you told today was the truth. I know it and you know it. Don't change it, add to it or forget it." He saw her tear up again and sighed. "Brandi, you're doing the right thing for yourself and for Mary. Keep reminding yourself of that, okay?"

"Thanks, Marshall," she whispered, closing the door as he nodded and turned to leave.

The first stars were out and he felt suddenly anxious to get back to Mary. For some reason, he suspected the nighttime hours would be harder than the day.

He was on the phone to Stan before the truck was back in traffic. "How much do we know about O'Connor?"

"Why? What happened at the interview?" Stan sounded alarmed.

"Nothing specific. Tried to fluster Brandi, succeeded in angering me and now all my warning lights and whistles are clamoring. I can't figure out if he's got some misguided Quixote complex about these drugs or if the whole scenario is being blown out of proportion to draw our attention away from something else."

Stan was silent while he thought. "Like what?" he finally asked.

"That's why I'm calling you," Marshall chuckled. "Can you see what he's been up to lately? See if he's running from something? There's something fundamentally hinky about the man."

"Besides the haircut?" The men laughed.

"How's Mary?" Stan asked after a moment.

Marshall debated his answer; remembered Stan's actions a few days prior. "She spent the night in the hospital. Didn't want me to call you. Infection and exhaustion. Things are looking better physically today, but she's still wiped out."

"Dammit," Stan sighed.

Marshall relayed the plan for Mary to stay with him for the next few days and Stan seemed satisfied. A few more ideas regarding their favorite FBI agent and the men said their goodbyes.

Marshall turned down his street and his brow furrowed as he approached his driveway. Every light in the house was on. Somehow, he suspected Mary wasn't sleeping.

* * *

She heard his key in the lock and took a calming breath, schooling her face into feigned interest for whatever show was on the television. It had been an anxiety riddled hour, but Mary was determined to appear rational and collected despite the fact she sat wrapped in the comforter from his bed, her head on his pillow, in a house flooded with light.

Marshall took this all in with a slow perusal of the room, also noting the pot on the stove and the smell of dinner. Mary looked unconvincingly nonchalant, and her easy wave and tight smile belied her obvious tension.

"That's not where I left you," he drawled, tossing his keys on the table and relieving his belt of weapon and badge.

"I got hungry. Decided to make dinner." Mary shrugged. "How'd it go?"

Marshall couldn't hide the flash of anger that rippled across his face with her question, but he wasn't going to irritate her with all the details. "As well as can be expected with O'Connor. Brandi cried, I threatened, things got thrown on the floor. A good time was had by all."

Mary grimaced with the story, concerned. "Christ, Marshall, did everyone make it out alive? Is my sister in jail?"

Marshall now saw that Mary had changed clothes and her hair was down in the way she dried it after a shower. There was a story or two here. He checked the pot on the stove, inhaling the aroma of the soup with "mmm".

"Still a non-incarcerated member of society. She did fine, actually. Lasted a whole hour before the tears started. I was impressed," he teased gently, walking over to sit on the other end of the couch from his partner. "What's with all the lights?"

Mary turned her face away from him and grabbed the remote, clicking through channels randomly. "I must've forgotten to turn them off when I came out here. Sorry."

He studied her profile while she pretended to decide on a channel. She had been scared; not wanting to sit in the dark by herself but not wanting to call him, he bet. Comforting herself with facsimiles of company; items that carried his scent. Pride kept her going, but pride also pushed her to the edge of endurance. Marshall wondered what trait would save her when she finally found herself plummeting to the bottom.

"What?" she snapped, as he continued to stare at her.

"Still hungry?"

"I was waiting for you. I cooked, so you get to serve."

Marshall threw a salad together and set everything on the table as Mary rose to join him. They briefly argued over his refusal to give her a beer, Mary rolling her eyes with annoyance as she gave up and took a seat, ravenous now.

"What happened?" Marshall asked abruptly, and Mary looked over to see him peering at her with a forkful of lettuce halfway to his mouth.

"What are you talking about?"

He slowly reached over to gently touch her temple as she jerked her head away. "You hit your head?"

She waved a hand at him with a tsk, "Tangled with the nightstand as I fell out of the bed apparently."

Marshall sighed, "I wondered why you took another shower. I'm sorry I wasn't here."

Mary set her silverware down forcefully, clenching her jaw as she tilted her head to meet his eyes. "Look. I don't really want to trip down memory lane right now, nor do I want you to feel guilty because you were out doing me a favor and missed a dramatic episode here. I'm hungry. I want to eat. How about we just do that, because if I start thinking about things I'm going to lose my appetite."

Marshall gave her a nod and pressed his lips together to signal his agreement. The partners finished their dinner in silence. Mary finally sat back, stomach contently full for the first time in days, and saw Marshall regarding her with a pensive stare.

"Brandi said you told her about the rape," he stated into the quiet room.

"_And…jumping right in with both feet,"_ she thought with annoyance. "She guessed. We were sharing at the time."

"I was surprised she knew, since you were upset about word getting out the other day. Are you going to tell your mom?" Marshall wondered.

Mary looked at him oddly, "Are you upset that I told Brandi?"

"No," he replied with raised eyebrows, "I just knew you were fairly adamant about keeping it under wraps. She doesn't seem to understand the whole concept of confidentiality."

Mary smiled tightly and looked down at her empty dishes, "It's funny. She's always been so good at keeping my secrets. I never worried about telling her anything. She'd broadcast just about anything else to the whole world, but never what I told her. Some sort of genetic loyalty or something. I'm sure you've got some lecture on it tucked away somewhere."

He didn't think he'd ever fully understand the complicated relationship between Mary and her sister. Never obviously close to anyone looking in, but there seemed to be lines drawn in the sand that no one but those two could see. Cross one, and they formed a united front to survive the onslaught. It was an emotional minefield that Marshall tried to avoid at all costs.

"So, as I asked, are you going to tell Jinx?"

"Hell no," Mary replied with a grimace. "I don't even want to think about the guilt and pity parties I'd have to attend for the next…years…if she knew. She'd find a way to make it all my fault and then play the suffering mother card for all to see. No, let's leave her in ignorant bliss for now."

"What about Raph?" Marshall asked quietly, watching the distress flash across Mary's face.

"What about him?" she huffed.

Marshall was silent. He knew she understood the question and he didn't think there was anything to add. Now that he knew she had gone to his apartment to discuss the missing drugs, Marshall was sure there had been no discussion of her attack or her physical state since then. He was fairly certain the relationship would fail at this point; whether Mary decided to reveal the facts to the man or not.

Mary sighed and scratched her head, elbow resting on the table. "I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I can't avoid him forever, and we really are only good at one thing, so it's probably going to be fairly obvious fairly soon that I'm off my game. He'll ask questions and…I don't know."

"He may push you into a physical relationship too soon if he doesn't know," Marshall warned.

She shrugged, "I have to get back in the saddle sometime, you know." Her answer was forced and flippant and Marshall winced.

"Mary," he called to her, waiting for her to look up at him. "Not for this. This will take time."

She chewed on her lip and nodded after a moment, "I know, I know. I just want to think that I can get back to being me sooner rather than later. You may not have noticed, but I run a little short on the patience side." She grinned at him.

Marshall grinned back. "Well, let's get this cleaned up and see if we can both manage to catch up on about four days of sleep. I'm beat."

He grabbed their plates as Mary stood with the leftover salad. Pushing his chair around the side of the table with his foot, Marshall headed into the kitchen.

The wooden legs of the chair scraped against the tile floor with an abrasiveness that reverberated in her brain and seized every muscle. She couldn't breathe. There was no air, and her chest was so tight that she was sure her ribs would crack. The clanging sound of metal on concrete registered faintly.

"_Where am I? I can't see!"_ she thought frantically as the echoes of voices, yells and cries only disoriented her more.

It was gray. Shadows flitting around the periphery of her vision but she couldn't move to see them. The air was thick and her pulse pounded in her own head as she frantically tried to draw a breath, diaphragm unwilling or unable to obey. Wood scraping against concrete; her terror burgeoned into panic as she knew what was coming. Knew that sound. Hands on her, and she screamed denial while lunging to the side; able to move but still unable to breathe.

…breathe…take a breath…Her legs buckled as the grayness began to turn to black around the edges. Pain where her knees ground into the floor. The voices were fading but for one.

"Breathe, Mary. Dammit!"

The air was clearer down here…thinner. She felt the cool tile beneath her palms; that sensation somehow releasing the suffocating band around her chest. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Then another.

"There you go. Keep breathing. I'm right here."

"Oh, God," she groaned on exhalation, the phrase drawn out; the sound of her own voice pulling her back to the present. Finally able to open her eyes, Mary repositioned her hands and knees as she balanced against the dizziness. Brown tile floor, white baseboards, sisal rug…not a basement.

Marshall heard the salad bowl hit the floor and spun around. Mary stood doubled over, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as she ineffectually gasped for air. He leapt to her side asking what happened; unsure whether her state was from illness or injury, and concerned as she began to shake.

She wasn't answering him and continued to shallowly gasp. Flashback, he determined. He had seen it in field agents recovering from grievous injury or insult. He reached out to support her as he was concerned she was going to fall over.

Her scream startled him, and she caught him on the jaw with a wild swing as she pushed away. Marshall jumped back, but continued to call to her. Urged her to breathe. Her color was bad and he was nearly in tears as he tried to bring her back to the present. She wobbled a few more steps away and fell to her knees. He went down next to her, out of reach but close enough to speak to her as calmly as possible. Finally, he saw her eyes open, and the whimper that escaped as she looked around turned his heart over.

"Mary," he whispered, "can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

She looked at him through a curtain of hair, terror still shining in her eyes, and sat back on her heels with a grunt. Her fingers stroked the floor as if she was trying to memorize its feel.

"Not the basement." The words were barely audible, gasped out in a raspy voice.

"No. It's not the basement. You're safe. You're here in my house."

"The chair. They dragged it. It would slide…" Her words stumbled over one another, loud then soft, and Marshall tried to make sense of them. "I couldn't reach them. Behind me…that damn chair."

He wished he wasn't able to interpret her rambling phrases, but he was too good at putting the pieces together. Marshall squeezed his own eyes shut with pain for his partner. Knelt on the floor with her as she slowly pieced herself back together. He edged a little closer and she held up a hand.

"No, wait. Just wait a minute." Her voice sounded steadier.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just wait."

Marshall sat back on his heels and waited, watched her shake and tremble as she tried to regain control. He saw her chin quiver and knew tears were soon to fall. Mary took some deep breaths in an attempt to stave them off; control measures he was very familiar with. Building the defenses back up and protecting herself.

"Look what they've done to me," she ground out in anger as the first tears escaped. "Groveling on the kitchen floor."

He didn't know how to respond and just continued to sit, his own eyes moist.

"This isn't right. It's all wrong and I don't know how to fix it. I don't want this. I don't want me like this," she broke off and sniffled loudly. "I don't want anyone to even look at me and...I can't stand the thought of letting someone touch me…be with me. I can't even look at myself. I just see…it's just…filthy."

"Mare…no," he whispered, wishing she'd let him come over to her.

"I'm scared. I don't know what's going to set me off. A smell, a sound, what next? I don't know how I'm going to get over that." She shifted to sit on one hip and wiped at her eyes, not able to keep up with the tears.

Marshall slid over within reach, offering reassurances he hoped would help, "We'll get there, Mare, remember? I won't let you fail, you know that."

Mary sensed him next to her and gave up trying to keep it together. It was a useless exercise with efforts that only added to the confusion, anger and loathing rushing through her veins. She leaned towards him and he was just there.

He took a deep breath and pulled her to him. Finally had her. Trying to tuck every part of her into him, Marshall wrapped his arms around his sobbing partner and held on.

* * *

***** Ooo boy, that was a bad one. She doesn't know whether she's coming or going, and Marshall's dragged with her the whole way. I vote they need some rest! Please let me know how I'm doing...how they're doing. REVIEWS!! *****


	15. Dawning

***** Oh, Sweet rest. The morning/afternoon looks so much better than the night before. *****

***** sorry so short..it's IPS night and I have my priorities, you know! *****

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_"**The difficulties you meet will resolve themselves as you advance. Proceed, and light will ****dawn****, and shine with increasing clearness on your path.****" **_

_**– Jim Rohn**_

* * *

Light behind his eyelids slowly roused him from a seemingly dreamless sleep. From the sounds filtering in from outside, Marshall knew he had slept past his normal waking hour. A lawnmower coughed to life a few doors down, and the slam of the Noragi's screen door one yard over preceded the shouts of their boys as they raced through the back lots. Not the usual sounds of an awakening world, but of one in full light of day. He actually felt rested; hard to believe he could. Hard to believe he was able to sleep at all, much less in the quantity he now needed to calculate. Turning his head, he reluctantly peeled one eye open to squint at the clock; eight in the morning. Ten hours of uninterrupted, unconscious bliss.

A sigh and mumble had him turning his head the other way, both eyes now open to regard the mess of blonde hair obscuring most of the pillow she slept on. Mary shifted, flopped one arm out to her side, then swallowed with another sigh as she drifted back into sleep. Lips slightly parted and hair everywhere, she would've given most men a reason to adjust their pants. Marshall just smiled slightly as he watched her relaxed face and listened to her breathe; any feelings of desire absent in the visible presence of bruises and thoughts of the previous night.

They had remained on the kitchen floor for nearly an hour, at one point scooting through the wilting remnants of the salad to rest their backs against the counter. He offered her the couch a number of times, but her legs wouldn't support her and she refused to let him lift her; hanging on to every shred of control she could. She alternated between crying and talking; he reciprocated by holding her or listening. Sometimes both. Sometimes neither as she opted to sit in silence. Mary finally allowed him to assist her to the bed when she could barely keep her eyes open and her joints began to protest the hard surface. His own knees popped so loudly when he lurched to his feet that she actually laughed at him. The hour on the floor was a small price to pay for that laugh.

She had told him things he didn't want to know, then revealed parts of her that he had yearned for. It was an emotional rollercoaster ride for them both, and by the time it was over he was spent. He looked at her now in the light of day, no evidence of the tear ravaged face from the night before but for a slight puffiness around her eyes. Reaching over to wind the end of a strand of hair around his finger, Marshall wondered what it would be like to wake next to her every day. To feel her breath on his back in the small, dark hours before dawn; her skin on his own each morning.

"_Not mine to keep,"_ he reminded himself, tracing her eyebrow lightly with a fingertip before sliding carefully out of bed. Making sure she slept on, he softly padded out the door to start the day.

*** *** *** *** ***

"I'm telling you, Stan, there's got to be something going on with this idiot other than an obsession with these drugs. They're not worth all this time and effort," Marshall spat, frustrated with the molasses like pace in which the federal computer systems were feeding them information.

"You think this is all a smoke and mirror campaign to keep our attention off something else?" Stan asked.

"His own team has all gone back to Jersey except for his assistant. How much you want to bet he applied for an extension of his travel clearance?" Marshall pondered as he again checked his computer for results from the queries Stan had sent the night before.

Stan grunted in agreement as he went back to his own work, content to let Marshall monitor the casework on O'Connor. "Let me know if something pops up, Marshall. I've got to get a few things out the door today."

Marshall gave him a sloppy salute as the tall man continued to study his computer screen. He just knew something valuable had to come through the filters sooner or later.

Stan looked up about an hour later to see Marshall standing in his doorway with a handful of papers and a shit-eating grin.

"I feel a little bit like Toto," his inspector drawled.

Seeing Stan's uncomprehending look, Marshall set the papers in front of his boss. "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, Dorothy."

Waiting while Stan perused the information, Marshall was satisfied to see the gleam of satisfaction echoed in the man's eyes when he looked up a few minutes later.

"He's going to wish a house landed on him by the time we're done," Stan quietly crowed. "Confirm it, write it up and we'll take it downtown tomorrow. Get out of here when you're done."

Marshall gave him an appreciative look as he quickly stepped back to his desk.

*** *** *** ***

The house was quiet when he walked back through the door and Marshall released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Still asleep, or back to sleep. Either way, she was getting some rest. Stopping first in the kitchen, he pulled out the soup to warm for lunch. He was going to have to wake her for food and meds.

The bedroom was again in shadow with the higher angle of the sun, and he made out her shape under the covers. Debating the wisest way to rouse her, he decided distance was the best way to avoid another sore spot on his jaw.

"Mary," he called from his side of the bed. "Hey, Mare, time to wake up for a while."

She drew in a slow, deep breath as sleep was shed, clearing her throat as she stirred. He called a few more times and she eventually rolled over to squint at him in the dim light.

"Jesus, Marshall, what time is it?" she muttered hoarsely.

"One o'clock," he answered, somehow fascinated at watching her wake.

"In the morning? Why the hell are you waking me up at one in the morning?" Mary rubbed her eyes and face.

Marshall smiled as he corrected her, "Try again, sleeping beauty, it's one in the afternoon."

"It is not," she contradicted, peering at him again as she propped herself up on her elbows. "There's no way I slept for fifteen hours. That's crazy."

"How do you feel?" he asked as she sat up.

Mary rolled her head and shrugged her shoulders as she tried to fully awaken. The events of the previous night began to filter into her mind with awareness of her surroundings, and she felt a little self conscious sitting in Marshall's bed as he watched her. Combing her fingers through her hair, Mary sent him a small smile and a glance.

"Stiff, sore, hungry…but better. Definitely better. And I have to pee."

"One of those I can help you with, and it doesn't involve the bathroom." He rolled his eyes as he levered off the bed. "Soup's on the stove, so I expect to see you out there in about five minutes."

Mary shook the remaining cobwebs from her head, availed herself the use of the restroom, and padded out to the promise of lunch. She watched her partner for a few minutes before announcing her presence.

"You're looking awfully self satisfied. Did O'Connor throw himself in front of a bus this morning?"

Marshall barked a laugh, her guess uncanny. "Oh, there's a bus a comin' for him. He just doesn't know it yet."

"Don't make me hurt you, Marshall. I'm not feeling that much better. Spill." Mary eased herself onto one of the counter stools.

"Did you know O'Connor was supposed to be on the team that busted Chuck that fateful morning in the lovely, Garden State?"

Mary rested her elbows on the counter. "Let me guess, he didn't succumb to the stomach flu?"

"If he did, he planned for it well. Switched out his assignment the night before."

Mary narrowed her eyes as she verbally worked through the scenario, "This was supposed to be a huge bust. Multiple collars, interagency cooperation, a good possibility of promotional opportunities…why would you trade assignments?"

"And that," Marshall announced as he served up a bowl of soup in her direction, "is what my good friend Blake is digging for in Jersey as we speak."

Mary pushed the salt over to Marshall as he sat next to her. "How good is your friend?"

"I sent him a case of BBQ ribs last year…twice."

Mary raised her eyebrows, impressed. "Wow. You never send me BBQ ribs," she teased, pouting.

He slid a glance her way as he sipped his soup. "You don't have pictures of me in a toga with a blue thong on my head and a half naked woman licking my chest."

Mary choked so badly on her soup that she had tears in her eyes as Marshall patted her on the back, laughing. Her phone rang in the other room and he got up to get it for her as she continued to recover. Looking at the screen, he winced. He had forgotten to tell her to call her sister.

Mary was still chuckling as she answered the phone offered to her, "Hey, Squish."

"I'm sorry, Mary!" Brandi hiccupped, "I didn't mean to. It's just that…she just makes me so mad sometimes! I just started yelling at her and…" Brandi broke off in a sob.

Marshall watched Mary slump over the counter with her forehead on her palm and wished her sister would've been on the same bus route as O'Connor.

"Brandi, take a breath. You've had fights with Mom before. Don't worry, she'll get over it, no matter what you said." Mary's tone was soothing, but she rolled her eyes with the words.

"Mary," Brandi began, then sobbed for a moment more as Mary waited. "Mary, it slipped out about what happened to you when you were kidnapped. I swear I didn't mean to say anything, but with everything going on I just…"

"Jesus Christ, Brandi," Mary hissed into the phone, tears pricking her eyes. "I trusted you with that!"

* * *

***** Oh great...now the drama mama knows. Should make everyone's life just a little more interesting. Glad to see some banter again though. I think Mary just needs to go back to bed. Despite the brevity...what did you think?? REVIEWS!! *****


	16. Yielding

***** Another shorter one as my time with the muses is limited at the moment *****

***** Mary doesn't need the aggravation of dealing with her mother. Marshall...well, Marshall always knows what she needs *****

* * *

_**"The closest to being in control we will ever be is in that moment that we realize we're not."**_

_**– Brian Kessler**_

_**"The whole idea of compassion is based on a keen awareness of the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another, and all involved in one another."**_

_**– Thomas Merton**_

* * *

Marshall watched Mary as she pushed off the stool and began to pace. He made an educated guess as to what the conversation was about, and felt his own ire rise again towards Brandi. It was only yesterday that Mary spoke of Brandi never betraying her trust and here it was thrown back in her face. For the millionth time since the beginning of their partnership, Marshall wondered how Mary survived within the trash compactor of anxiety called her life. Or maybe it was more like a food processor. Anything healthy that attempted to enter was torn to shreds and consumed. The only things left were a few remnants of unwanted bits that slowly dried out and were thrown away. Now, however, she seemed to be caught in the blades, and he was getting tired of watching her bleed.

Mary was ready to reach through the phone and pull her sister back through by her throat. It was unbelievable that Brandi had told Jinx about her assault. She tried to give her sister some benefit of the doubt…emotions were high, Jinx was insufferable and drunk…but the slap of betrayal stung nonetheless. And now she would have to deal with her mother's misguided attempts at comfort that would only turn into veiled insults and subtle attempts to collect her own supply of sympathy. Tuning back in as her sister continued to tearfully apologize, Mary tossed her head back in annoyance as she cut Squish off.

"Stop…just stop," she barked into the phone. "What's done is done and you can't fix it. And it doesn't sound like she was so drunk that she won't remember."

"She wants to talk to you," Brandi sniffled.

"I'm not talking to her right now, and I'm almost done talking to you. I don't know what you're going to tell her or how you're going to take care of her, but you better figure it out. You also better make sure she doesn't decide to tell the whole block." Mary ranted in a low, steady voice; anger barely controlled.

"Mary, can't you just talk to her for a minute," Brandi begged. "Tell her you're fine and you'll see her soon or something? She just wants to make sure you're okay."

Mary clenched her jaw as she stared a hole into the wall. "No, Brandi, I can't. You know why? Because I'm NOT fine…I'm NOT okay…and I don't need this right now. I'm with the only person who doesn't want something from me and here I will stay…for as long as he'll let me."

She disconnected as Brandi started sobbing again, beating the phone against her forehead in frustration.

"Brandi told Jinx?" Marshall asked softly. He was touched by her reference to him.

"They were fighting. It gets pretty heated sometimes, especially when Mom is drinking," Mary explained, slowly walking back into the kitchen.

Still defending the sibling that just rolled over on her. Marshall shook his head, "It wasn't hers to tell, no matter what the circumstance, and you know that."

"Yeah, I know that," Mary snapped. "It's pretty much a moot point now, don't you think. The cat's out of the bag, the baby's thrown out with the bathwater…pick your catchy cliché of choice, but it basically boils down to the fact that my circumstances are now known to a narcissistic alcoholic making the rounds of Albuquerque watering holes who likes to wax poetic about the trials of her life and those within it to every walking dick that might twitch at her cleavage. Watering holes that tend to cater to other cops…maybe a witness or two. Christ, Marshall, I might as well stick a fucking sign on my forehead that reads 'rape victim, please talk about me behind my back'. That's exactly what I wanted to avoid! The whispers, the comments muttered under people's breath as you walk by, the snide remarks wondering whether I liked it…" She broke off with a growl, fists clenched as she struck the counter.

Marshall would've tried to allay her fears, but he had heard the same whispers she had over the years. Knew there were too many of those with small minds and warped moral codes who would mock and jeer. Vowing to personally rearrange the anatomy of any who dared to utter unflattering comments about his partner within earshot, Marshall reached over to cover her fists with his hands.

Mary stared at their hands for a moment, then looked at Marshall from under her brow.

"You can stay here as long as you like. You know that, right?" he queried.

He was offering a sanctuary. Safe and welcoming, without tithe or obligation. She smiled tightly and nodded, accepting.

Her phone picked that time to ring again, and Mary looked at the screen with a snort of disgust. Jinx. Marshall stared at her while she stared at the phone. Slowly, Mary reached out to rest her fingers on the plastic, hesitated for yet another ring, then deliberately pushed the phone over to her partner as her eyes met his. Offering him a role he was only too willing to take.

"This is Marshall," he answered, still meeting her gaze.

Mary sighed and closed her eyes in relief. As he began to talk quietly and earnestly into the phone, she helped herself to a glass of water and shuffled back towards the bedroom. Despite a half day of sleep, Mary again felt bone weary. She had nowhere to go and no pressing engagements; Marshall taking care of all the case information and Stan monitoring her witnesses. In a rare display of wisdom, Mary heeded her body's continued call for rest and climbed back into Marshall's bed. She briefly considered moving down the hall, then rolled her eyes knowing that was just tempting fate. The dreams would come eventually, she had no doubt, and until she had mentally sorted through a few more things the only place she would find comfort was where her head currently rested.

She wondered what it meant that she would rather sleep in her partner's bed than in her own? That when she thought of returning to her home there was a sense of loss? Surely the shrink would spout a number of syndromes and conditions that would explain the attachment to this man who had become protector and confidant in the last few days. Tell her that the odd feelings in the pit of her stomach when she awoke with his hand resting on her abdomen would fade away as she recovered her sense of self. Exhaustion. Stress. Pain. Fear…all valid reasons for confusing feelings and unexpected wants. She had to reconnect to reality soon, Mary decided, otherwise she find herself on a very bumpy road.

Barely starting to doze, Mary heard him creep into the room to leave her her phone.

"I'm not asleep," she murmured, rolling over to talk to him.

Marshall sat on the bed and handed her the cell. "I do believe I just moved to the top of your mother's shit list."

Mary smiled, "Lucky for you her shit list is usually forgotten every morning along with everything else in the memory purge."

He chuckled sadly, then filled her in on the call, "Setting aside all the invective and name calling, I did finally convince her that you are still alive and kicking and will call her at your convenience, not hers. Apparently, a clean kitchen and a mowed lawn equate to post traumatic bliss, so I'm picking her and your sister up in about a half hour to take them to your house for clean up duty. This is supposed to erase all grievances and produce forgiveness, so I'm instructed to tell you to be properly appreciative of this effort when you eventually return home."

"Unbelievable," Mary droned, unable to repress a grin at the expressions on his face as he told the story. "You don't need to mow my lawn, Mr. Greenjeans."

He rolled his eyes and waved off her protest, "I don't mind the chore, and it needs to be done. Besides, it keeps me outside while they're inside."

"I knew you were smart," she teased.

"Call me when you wake up and I'll pack it in and head back," he instructed, sliding off the bed, then turning back to look at her. "Or call me if you need to call me."

Mary rolled back over, "Goodbye, Marshall."

He snickered at his dismissal and headed to the door.

"Hey," she called softly, looking at him over her shoulder. He looked back questioningly. "Thanks for...well, just, thanks." She wouldn't be able to list everything.

"I expect at least one case of ribs for this, you know," Marshall drawled.

"And I'll need to see photographic evidence of debauchery for that to ever happen."

* * *

***** My god...did Mary actually hand over control for a little bit. Resting?? There seems to be hope! Now for the bad news...due to prior commitment, I will NOT be able to post tomorrow night (Friday). I know...wail and gnash your teeth, go ahead. :) Maybe you'll get an extra chapter this weekend?? Never know, but you'll definitely see something on Saturday! And for today, please do what you all do so amazingly well...REVIEW!! *****


	17. Purging

***** Time to wrap up some loose ends and gobsmack losers. They're slowly falling back into normal. Thanks for tolerating the delay!! *****

* * *

_**"Anyone can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person at the right time, and for the right purpose and in the right way - that is not within everyone's power and that is not easy."**_

_**-- Aristotle**_

_**Crusade-- a remedial exercise undertaken with zeal and enthusiasm.**_

* * *

Jinx cried and pleaded for access to Mary, then began to insult Marshall for having no idea how damaging his actions were to her psyche as a mother; finally blaming him for turning her daughter against her. This in the twenty minutes it took to load herself into the SUV and travel to Mary's house. Marshall turned a deaf ear to the rant, having years of practice tuning out annoying witnesses and another particularly opinionated Shannon woman, and when they pulled into Mary's driveway he slid out quietly and started up the walk.

Two doors closed behind him, and he gritted his teeth as the women now began to argue amongst themselves.

"Give it a rest, Mom," whined Brandi. "You're not going to change his mind and you're giving me a headache."

"I'm worried about Mary, sweetie," Jinx pouted. "What if she's terribly injured and Marshall just won't tell me? I didn't even talk to her! Anything could be going on at that house and I wouldn't be able to help her."

Brandi sighed and tugged on the straps of her tank top as she followed Marshall into the house. "I talked to her, Mom. And I saw her two days ago. She's tired and mad. Just leave her alone for a little while. You know how Mary is when she's pissed at us."

"Well, if she hadn't been following me around that morning, this never would've happened," Jinx announced with a toss of her head as she continued towards the kitchen.

"What?" Brandi asked, looking at her mother in puzzlement.

"She was sneaking around at my audition for Sweet Charity. Watching me. Probably wanted to make sure the director didn't offer me the part or something." Jinx picked small pieces of couch stuffing off the floor as she told the story as she saw it. "I gave her a piece of my mind right then and there. Told her to stop being so selfish. I think she was surprised."

Dropping the small pieces of fuzz into the trash can, Jinx wiped her hands on her shirt. "Anyway, if she wasn't on one of her missions to ruin my life, she wouldn't have been at the theatre and those men wouldn't have grabbed her."

Marshall was ready to jump to his partner's defense when Brandi beat him to it. "God, Mom, you really are an idiot sometimes! Do you think those guys grabbed Mary because she was there? They followed her from our house. They thought she was me. They would've grabbed her if she had gone to the grocery store. Haven't you been paying attention to the story the last few days?"

Eyebrows raised in surprise at the anger in Brandi's voice, Marshall headed into the back rooms before the argument could get louder. Over the years, he had learned to just let these things play themselves out. Intervention was futile and only gave the players a new target. No wonder Mary spent as much time as possible away from her house. If they came to blows he might separate them…might. He began to mentally wager on who would win a wrestling match between the two women in the other room, chuckling at the ridiculous scenes in his head.

Brandi and Jinx squabbled for nearly an hour, Marshall only sticking his head into the house occasionally to make sure they were being semi-productive while they fought, glad for the long grass and overgrown hedges. Mary called around six, and he headed inside to check on his charges before packing up his gear. Earlier, the women had decided to check out of the hotel and stay at the house and they now followed him out to the truck to get their bags.

"We can get some more work done tonight and maybe Mary can come home a little sooner, sleep in her own bed." Brandi told him.

Marshall didn't want Mary to go home sooner. He didn't want her to sleep in her own bed. He wanted her to stay right where she was, but knew it was a fool's wish. She had repeatedly expressed her desire to return to normal, and he would do everything to help her get there, even if it left him with nothing but a pillow lightly scented in coconut lime shampoo. It had been too easy to become comfortable with her in his house, expecting to see her when he looked up from cooking breakfast or hear her curse with annoyance as she once again failed to properly work the water filter on his faucet.

"_This needs to stop,"_ he berated himself. Having seen the vulnerable side of her, the tears and the fear, Marshall had allowed himself to fully step into the role of caretaker and now his normally repressed feelings for her had found themselves hanging from his sleeves. Mary would pluck them off like low hanging fruit when she had regained her footing; scoffing at him in jest and striking out on her own while he tossed mild insults her way to cover his chagrin. Thrust. Parry. Spin. Slice. Needed to avoid that last one as he really didn't want to spill his guts.

He glanced at the sky and quickly finished loading the garden tools into the back of the truck so he could get home before dark. Protecting his electric bill from abuse, he told himself. _"Right."_

* * *

"You know, you don't need to go do this with me. In fact, it's probably a really bad idea to put you two in the same room together." Marshall could see her leg bouncing and fingers tapping out of the corner of his eye as he drove and offered her an out. She was nervous.

"You don't need to worry about me, idiot. I'm not going to swoon if he starts with me," Mary replied scathingly.

Marshall barked a laugh, "I'm not worried about you. You're fairly predictable. I'm worried about me."

Mary was pretty sure she didn't like being called predicable. She always thought she was fairly spontaneous and a bit wily. Predictable seemed…boring. The last part of the sentence registered finally.

"You? You're going to swoon?" She grinned at him.

He favored her with one of his aggravated grimaces, "The lability of my hemodynamic system is increased greatly around O'Connor when he addresses you. And my language tends to seek out the cellar. I prefer not to turn into a knuckle dragging Neanderthal while wearing my badge if I can help it."

Mary stared at him for a moment. "I'm not sure whether that was an attempt to talk dirty or if you've just been reading the dictionary again." She shrugged, and snickered, "I get the knuckle dragging part though, and I promise not to provoke him. I guess. Although, really, doesn't he have it coming?"

"About six ways from Sunday," Marshall drawled.

They pulled up to the Federal Building about five minutes later, Marshall again having to rein in his stride to match Mary's still slower steps. Dressed officially, they carried files carrying information that could get O'Connor reprimanded at the very least; charged as accessory at the most.

She stopped at the main doors, taking a deep breath and visibly straightening and Marshall waited.

"Ready?" he asked quietly.

This was the first foray into crowded territory since their visit to Albuquerque PD a few days earlier. Mary knew she was still jumpy, having started badly in the parking garage when one colleague called loudly to another, and she didn't want to embarrass herself in front of people who knew her. She also recalled the feeling of fear the last time O'Connor threatened her while in the hallway. Wrestling trepidation into reluctant submission, she cleared her throat and nodded, keeping her eyes straight ahead.

She focused her gaze on the elevators. He swept the lobby for hints of disturbances or persons deemed annoying. Two steps behind her, Marshall made sure she got to where she was going without incident, purposeful or accidental. They waited for the elevator as Mary probably stood much closer to him than she normally would, her shoulder nearly touching his chest, but Marshall wouldn't dream of stepping back. Finally in the car on their way to the fourth floor, his comment of "piece of cake" seemed innocuous to strange ears riding with them. Mary grinned at him in gratitude through her reflection in the polished doors.

O'Connor was surprised to see them waiting outside his office as he returned from a meeting, and he couldn't hide the hesitation in his step at their grim countenances. Eyes shifting from blue gaze to green, he crossed his arms over his chest as he came to stand before them.

"Inspectors," O'Connor greeted, "what can I do for you today?"

"Are you feeling all right, O'Connor?" asked Mary with a smirk. "Polite makes you look a little green around the edges."

The agent's eyes flashed at her and Mary sensed Marshall stiffen. "You came to me, so obviously you have something to discuss. My office? Or maybe the training gym so you or your partner can abuse me again?"

Mary and Marshall grinned at each other and O'Connor's frown deepened. "Your office will suffice. We won't be long, I'm sure." Marshall replied.

O'Connor sat behind his desk while the marshals pulled up chairs. They sat and regarded him in silence. He fussed with his pencil holder and mouse then straightened his tie, all signs that the two inspectors were making him nervous. Mary smiled.

Clearing his throat, O'Connor spoke into the intentional silence, "I assume you've brought some information to me regarding the Carlson case? Found those drugs, maybe?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say this is directly related to the case," Marshall began in his most irritatingly slow style of explanation; long, drawn in breaths before each sentence. "More of a prelude to our…saga…of the last few days. Kind of like a…day in the life of Special Agent Robert O'Connor."

O'Connor swallowed and shifted his eyes between the pair again, clearly becoming uncomfortable. Mary's mouth turned up on one side in silent satisfaction. It was his turn to be blindsided by information that made your blood run cold. Sweating while people stared at you. Glancing over to watch Marshall, she noted his relaxed profile and hands folded in his lap. He was good; appearing utterly at ease while he spun the story, and she felt the grip of pride as she watched him work.

Color fading as Marshall revealed their knowledge of his duty trade, O'Connor gripped the arms of his chair as Marshall pulled out a manila folder with pictures inside.

"Since you seem fond of show and tell," Marshall remarked as he laid the pictures on O'Connor's desk, "I thought I'd show you some of my favorites. This is a modest house in a suburb of Atlantic City. Kept nice and neat by a fine employee of the federal government. This is the woman who lives in that house. The wife…er, widow, of that fine employee. Here's a picture of a U.S. Marshal from Atlantic City who paid a visit to that widow yesterday." Marshall paused for effect, glad to see O'Connor's eyes pasted to the pictures, respirations increased.

"Now, I don't have a picture of the result of that meeting, but I do have the sworn statement of said U.S. Marshal as to the gist of the information imparted while he was there. Do you want to know what she said?"

O'Connor was silent and Mary nudged him with a question, "Do you not want to know what she said, Agent O'Connor? Or do you not care?"

"I know what she said," O'Connor roughly whispered, jaw clenched.

"Then, do we need to review the sordid details? Do you have anything you'd like to say? Refute any part of what you think we know?" Marshall asked.

"He was my friend," O'Connor ground out. "I needed to do something more than twiddle my thumbs."

Mary huffed and stared disbelievingly, "Your friend? You diddled his wife while he took a bullet in your place and you thought starting a witch hunt for a U.S. Marshal was a valid crusade to court redemption? That ripping me and my family to pieces would somehow clean the shit off your face?"

Marshall heard her getting worked up and laid his hand on her arm. She checked herself and sat back slightly with a forced sigh. O'Connor looked angry and defensive and Marshall didn't want a shouting match to ensue in the office. They now needed to deliver their ultimatum and exit the premises with the least amount of drama as possible.

"You have two choices here, O'Connor," Marshall maintained his calm and steady pace. "You can pack up and leave quietly by tomorrow with no further contact and this information never sees the light of day, or you can continue to pursue trumped up charges against Inspector Shannon and her family and I will make sure every office of every federal agency along the eastern seaboard gets a very detailed account of your whereabouts during the time two FBI agents lost their lives."

The battle raged on O'Connor's face. Fury. Shame. Frustration. "I'll be on a flight out tomorrow evening. My final report on this closed case will be in your supervisor's inbox around the same time." O'Connor's words were forced out as he barely maintained control.

Mary and Marshall stood, nodded at the agent and walked towards the elevators without looking back. The doors slid open to admit them into an empty car, and as soon as the edges of the metal doors met again Mary let her head fall back as she let out a long, slow moan of relief.

"Oh, my God. Please tell me that's the end of this. Tell me I can sleep without worrying that there will be agents raiding my house in the predawn hours or arresting me in the parking lot at the grocery store."

Marshall smiled over at her, himself breathing a large sigh of relief. "I believe that…as they say…is that. Were you worried about raids?"

Mary shook her head slowly while she sighed, "Jesus, Marshall, some of my nightmares have been about just that. I would wake up hearing the pounding on the door and glass breaking. Getting thrown to the pavement while they put the cuffs on."

"I didn't know," he replied, concerned, and wanting to go back upstairs to beat the shit out of O'Connor for yet another insult to Mary.

She shrugged. "No reason for you to. You had enough to worry about without me adding to your load with action packed dreams."

The doors opened onto a crowded lobby before he could reply, and he took up sentry duty without thought as Mary plunged headfirst into the fray before she could think about it too long. Finally back outside, her shoulders relaxed and Marshall chuckled slightly as he recalled the conversation upstairs.

"What?" she asked.

"'valid crusade to court redemption'? If I didn't know better, I'd say you've been reading my literature whilst I was away." He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Tossing him a sly look, Mary replied, "Do you mean the crap you keep in your study, or the interesting stuff you keep under your mattress?"

It was just a split second of surprise, but she knew him too well to miss it. "Oh, my God. You **do** have magazines under your mattress, don't you?"

"There's some damn good articles in some of those, you know," he was flushed as he tried to defend himself, but his words were drowned out by Mary's laughter as they walked to the car.

* * *

***** Oh, you KNOW he reads those for the articles...right?? LOL. Poor Marshall...still wants to keep her even though he knows she'll decimate him. I wish he would've decimated O'Connor! Hope you're still reading even though I made you wait an extra day!! And please, do not deny me my REVIEWS!! *****


	18. Confronting

***** You think you're ready to move forward when something comes along to drag you back. Sometimes that something is family. *****

* * *

_**"The evil that is in the world almost always comes of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence if they lack understanding."**_

_**– Albert Camus**_

_**"A thick head can do as much damage as a hard heart."**_

_**– Harold W. Dodds**_

* * *

Mary's phone rang with a number she didn't recognize. She and Marshall were heading back to his house after checking in with Stan to fill him in on the discussion with O'Connor. Once the final report from the FBI was filed, Mary would only have to wait for medical clearance to get back to work. Of course, medical clearance included a permission slip from the psychiatrist.

At Marshall's urging, Mary finally caved in and called Dr. Weibert to make an appointment for the next day. The doctor was only too glad to get started right away, and Mary hung up with mixed feelings; relief and dread. Relief that she would learn some coping mechanisms to corral the lingering fear of her own shadow, and dread towards the thought of someone crawling around in her head. There were things in there she didn't want anyone to see, not even herself. Maybe this was the doc calling her back.

"This is Mary," she answered.

"Miss Shannon? This Dr. Sakabu, the M.E.," the man greeted her, adding a few pleasantries.

Her mind was trying to connect the dots between the M.E. and the psychiatrist as he spoke again, "I have the virology and toxicology results on Henry Miller and Gary Payton. You are on my contact list for results."

"Um, are you sure? I don't know who you're talking about," she asked, confused, shrugging as Marshall sent her a questioning look.

"Oh, well, you're listed as…let me see…as the victim of a sexual assault by these men. I'm sorry. You signed the release for this information."

Mary stilled. She felt as though the air in the cab had gotten thick as she swallowed twice before replying, "I didn't know their names. Yes, that's correct."

She wasn't sure she wanted to think of the men as having names. It somehow made them more human, and she was not inclined to think of them that way; needed them to remain faceless and nameless in order to keep them from her dreams. She had avoided talking about them at all other than in terms of 'them', 'they' or 'he'. Hadn't even described them with any characteristics other than a height or a mannerism. Her report listed them as a tall one with a broken nose and a short one who smoked continuously; unable to recall facial features at the time, unwilling to try.

"I'm happy to report to you that even though they both had various drugs in their systems, neither had any communicable or sexually transmitted diseases at the time of their death. I would urge you, though, to have another blood test done in six months to cover all your bases."

"Oh," Mary stated quietly, unsure as to why her reaction was so muted. "That's good…yeah, that's good. Thank you." She disconnected without waiting for a reponse.

The information was somehow unsettling, but she couldn't put on finger on why. Incredibly grateful for the good news, Mary couldn't shake the sudden feeling of revulsion spreading through her. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hugged her elbows.

"Who was that? What's going on?" Marshall asked.

"The M.E. The men who…raped me were clean. No STDs." She didn't know why she was stumbling over words. Feeling exposed and skittish again.

"Thank God," he said. One less item of worry to keep him awake at night, but Marshall heard her hesitation, saw the protective body language. The information had brought the attack back to the forefront; freshened memories she had been moving away from.

Mary stared out the window, slow to respond. "I got lucky there, I guess." She shuddered. "I need a shower."

Marshall reached out, intending to lay a hand on her shoulder, then checked himself. The last thing she probably wanted right now was to be touched. Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, he set his jaw and aimed for home.

* * *

Mary emerged from the guest room showered and dressed in t-shirt and sweats. Her demeanor had become more contemplative than brooding, and she could offer no explanation to her partner as she joined him in the living room.

"I'm not sure what happened in the truck. That news should've made my day."

"Just brought some unwanted details into focus," he replied, offering her a soda as she sat down on the couch. Noting her wince.

Mary shifted a few times to get comfortable; on her feet too long today. "I hadn't thought about it since they were drawing blood in the ER. Didn't want to think about it…still don't want to think about it."

Marshall wiped away drops of condensation on his glass as he stared at the ice cubes floating within. Mary watched him, knowing he was turning something over in his mind as he sucked on his bottom lip.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

Taking a deep breath, Marshall decided direct was best, "Could you be pregnant?"

He might as well have slapped her by her reaction. Paling slightly, Mary visibly jerked back against the couch cushion with a grunt of disgust. "No! No…I'm on the pill. And I took another one while in the ER. That's not going to happen."

"I didn't mean to upset you, I just worry," he apologized softly, irritated with himself for distressing her.

"I know. I thought about it too," she shrugged and swirled her soda in its glass, "and I guess I won't know for sure for a couple of weeks. Chances are pretty damn slim to none, though."

They both sat lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes, neither wanting to venture into the territory of 'what if' they had opened for exploration.

"I'd like to get over to my house," Mary suddenly announced. "I need to do something productive."

Marshall raised his eyebrows as he looked over at her. "Hanging O'Connor in his own noose wasn't productive enough for you?"

She chuckled, "You know what I mean. I don't want to sit around here and think about things for the rest of the day. I need to keep my mind busy."

"You're already hurting. I'm hesitant to condone more physical activity." Marshall pushed off the couch with his statement as Mary's glare spurred him to create distance between them.

Rubbing at her eye to keep it from twitching in annoyance, she tried to keep her voice steady, "Really don't want to have to ask your permission for this. That's not going to sit well with me."

"Your mom and sister are there. They're going to be all over you," Marshall warned.

"It'll be fine. Mom's had a chance to cool off, and Squish will fall all over herself trying to get back into my good graces. We've played this game before."

Putting his glass in the dishwasher, Marshall sighed in annoyance. He didn't want to argue with her. "I'll stay there with you. I can help move some of the bigger stuff while you direct traffic."

"You don't have to stay…" she started, only to be cut off by a look she knew too well and conceding before he could change his mind. "Stay, it is."

* * *

Any hopes that Mary entertained to the effect of arriving at an empty house were dashed as she and Marshall walked towards the front door. The sound of a door slamming followed by Jinx's piercing yell made Mary wince and Marshall's eyelid twitch.

"Shields up, Captain," Mary muttered for Marshall's ears as she opened the door.

He smiled and leaned forward to whisper to her, "If you teleport, you better the hell take me with you!"

Mary had to grin, the moment only lasting briefly, however, as Jinx spotted them standing in the foyer.

"Mary!" she gushed, rushing forward to grab her daughter into an enveloping embrace. Mary grimaced and dutifully patted her mother on the back, wiggling out of the hug as soon as she could.

Jinx held her at arms length, appraising her with a sad expression, "My baby girl, I'm so happy to see you! I was so worried about you, but you look good. So much better than I expected."

"Marshall's been taking good care of me, Mom." Mary explained, with a grateful look towards her partner.

Jinx pulled Mary forward, just about ignoring Marshall. "Well, now you're home and I can get you back on your feet like nothing happened."

"I'm not staying," Mary began, gently extricating herself from her mother's grip and walking towards the laundry room. "I wanted to come over and organize a few things, say hello and grab some different clothes. I'm not…cleared to come home yet." She didn't want to admit to the lack of desire to return to her house.

Jinx looked confused and hurt. "But you should be here with me, your mother. You should have a woman taking care of you. We can talk about things that you wouldn't be able to talk about with a man." Her tone cast aspersions on Marshall's gender while she gave the man the hairy eyeball.

Sighing loudly, Marshall turned his attention to the house. He was going to throw something at Mary's mother before long if he stayed in this room listening to her whine. Mary could handle her without him glowering, he was sure.

Mary watched Marshall head into the back rooms and heard him talking with Brandi. The man was smooth. Managed to weasel his way out of most arguments between her and her family members; just slipped off to do his own thing before anyone noticed. She'd seen him lose his cool once with her sister in that hotel room and didn't blame him for now avoiding confrontation with Jinx. He'd be back in a flash if she called, she knew, but her mother was still relatively calm and she didn't need his assistance.

"Mary, are you listening to me?" Jinx asked again, drawing Mary's attention back into the room.

"Sorry, Mom, I'm still easily distracted. Can you help me pack up some clothes?" Mary tried to keep her tone light and thought that asking the woman for assistance would satisfy Jinx's need to be motherly.

Mary's mood went from marginal to dark as she walked through the house to her room. Even though her sister and mother had cleaned up the majority of the detritus, chucks of insulation still lay in random patterns on the floor and some of the holes in the walls were large enough to put her head through. It was as appalling as the night she stood and wept over her lost things. There was no way O'Connor was leaving town without agreeing to pay for the damage he had done.

Visually checking that her box of letters remained in its previous location, Mary began to look through her drawers for some additional sweatpants and underwear. Jinx had trailed along behind her and now sat on her bed.

"Mary, come sit with me. Talk to me," Jinx cajoled, patting the bed beside her.

"Sitting isn't my favorite activity, Mom. What do you want to talk about?"

"Don't you want to talk about what happened? It must've been awful, and I know you hold things inside, but I think you need to tell someone the story, sweetie."

Mary put the clothes on the bed and moved to her bathroom to gather more things. "I gave my statement to the police, and Marshall and I have talked about the rest. I don't really see the need to rehash it again. You're right, it was awful."

"You talked to Marshall about the rape?" Jinx said the word in whisper. "Do you really think that's wise?"

Hands on her hips, Mary stopped what she was doing to look at Jinx and tilt her head, "What do you mean, do I think that's wise? He's my partner of almost six years, my best friend and the man who hauled my ass out of that basement. He's also been fairly influential in keeping your youngest daughter out of jail. Why would it be unwise to tell him the story?"

"Honey, men are odd sometimes. When they know certain things about you it makes them act funny. He might think you're an easy target now. Someone he can take advantage of." Jinx had her hand over her heart as she leaned in towards Mary and kept her voice low.

Mary jerked up straight and stared at her mother in disbelief. Did the woman really think so little of Marshall, or was she just so out of touch with reality due to the booze that she actually thought that way? She decided to go with the second in order to avoid slapping her mother for the first. Jinx was now giving her that pleading look she hated so much, and Mary dug an overnight bag out of the pile of clothes on the bottom of her closet to throw her items into.

"Jesus, Mom. No one's going to take advantage of me. I can still shoot people, you know."

Jinx must've realized Mary's aggravation level had risen and she mildly apologized before helping Mary with her bag. Marshall met her back in the living room with a plan of action for the rest of the afternoon, and Mary was relegated to sorting through the remnants of the filing cabinet that Marshall poured onto the coffee table; physically simple but enough of a mental challenge to keep her focused.

They all gathered in the kitchen for a snack later in the afternoon, Mary fairly impressed there had been no squabbling for at least an hour. Jinx, however, was still giving Marshall the cold shoulder and speaking about him as though he wasn't there.

"Are you sure you won't stay, Mary?" her mother asked as Brandi washed up their dishes.

"Not yet, Mom. Give me a few more days and I'm sure I'll be ready to come home."

"Remember what I said, sweetheart," Jinxed warned with a fairly obvious head nod towards Marshall.

Marshall looked at Mary in puzzlement and his partner rolled her eyes. "Mom's worried you might take advantage of me in my weakened state."

He curled his lip at Jinx and shook his head as the woman crossed her arms and glared at him. It would be amusing if the subject the whole situation revolved around wasn't so grave.

"Mary! That wasn't for you to tell," Jinx rebuked her.

Mary laughed sharply, "Wow…must run in the family then. Telling people things that were supposed to be confidential."

"I apologized, Mary!" Brandi jumped in.

"Well I still can't believe you didn't tell me right away!" Jinx gestured at her oldest daughter as she addressed her. "Why wouldn't you come to me with something like that? I'm your mother, for crying out loud."

"You don't exactly have a track record of being sympathetic to my plights, or being helpful in any way when I needed assistance," Mary began, warming to the argument. "In fact, you were much better at soothing your own conscience in a bottle and then rattling the whole tale off to strangers in the middle of the night. Doesn't inspire confidence in your mothering abilities, Mom."

_"Here we go,"_ thought Marshall, hands now in his pockets as he leaned against the wall. He knew the peace was temporary. Jinx had been staring at Mary with questions in her eyes all afternoon. He hoped Mary was up to this.

"You weren't exactly easy to take care of, Mary!" Jinx countered, tears already gathering. "Galloping off to this boy or that boy. Disappearing for days while I looked for you and Brandi cried. And that's exactly what you've done this time. Holing up in Marshall's house while your sister and I fend for ourselves."

"Fend for yourselves? All you've had to do is sit back and wait for me and Marshall to pull Brandi's ass out of the fire. I've been the one recovering from this whole fucking mess!" Mary shot back.

"You look like you've recovered just fine, too," Jinx spat, "No need for my help, no need for your mother. You won't even tell me what happened!"

Mary snorted, "You know what the hell happened! The details aren't important. And you should be happy I look fine instead of trying to somehow use my misery to draw attention to yourself. I'm not giving you any ammunition to play 'poor me', Mom. I don't need my circumstances broadcast to the neighborhood. You're going to have to go without the details."

"Maybe you're the one who wants attention this time, Mary. Didn't want everyone thinking your sister was the injured party. Kidnapped and stuck in the basement wasn't a good enough story so you had to add assault to it as well. How do we even know it really happened?" Jinx was striking out blindly and hit the wrong nerve.

"Mom!" "Jinx!" Brandi and Marshall both reprimanded the woman at the same time.

Mary had stepped back from where she leaned against the counter as was staring at her mother in open mouthed disbelief. "I can't believe you would even think that, much less say it," Mary whispered.

Jinx continued to glare at her and Mary set her jaw. Marshall came off the wall with the change in his partner's expression, thinking Mary was going to strike her mother. It would've been less distressing than her next action.

"A picture's worth a thousand words, Mom," Mary hoarsely ground out as she reached for the hem of her shirt. Pulling the garment up, she exposed her torso from chest to hipbone as her sweatpants rode low. Brandi gasped and covered her eyes, crying softly into her hands. The marks from hours of abuse were plain for all to see, a black and blue testimony to pain and humiliation.

"Oh, Mary," Jinx whispered, now crying herself.

Marshall closed his eyes and took a deep breath to remain calm in light of what he had seen. Marks from blows that had left her dangling and helpless, from assaults meant to terrorize and demoralize, and from tools that tortured. The anger reared its ugly head again and he clenched his fists in order to remain focused on the people in the room.

Opening his eyes, he stepped over to Mary and carefully laid his hands over hers as they remained fisted in her t-shirt. Her eyes latched onto his, and she allowed him to slowly guide her hands down until her shirt was back in place. He grasped her upper arms and she let her head fall forward onto his shoulder.

"Take me home, Marshall."

* * *

***** Back to the pain. Even the good news is painful. Marshall's trying to let her handle her own battles, but she's not entirely ready to take the blows. I'm glad she's going back to marshall's house...safer there. Please keep reading and REVIEWING! Your encouragement is welcome :) *****


	19. Releasing

***** Emotions are tricky things. Mary's not very good at them, and Marshall's occasionally get the best of him. Time for some talk. *****

* * *

_"**Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.**"_

_"**Are you upset little friend? Have you been lying awake worrying? Well, don't worry...I'm here. The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you." -Charlie Brown to Snoopy**_

* * *

The ride back to Marshall's house was made in uncomfortable silence. Marshall had led Mary out of her house as Brandi and Jinx consoled each other, neither of them trying to stop the partners or offering any words of comfort to Mary. The two people in the SUV were now lost in their own thoughts, both contemplating the scenery along the Rio Grande during the drive.

Mary sat picking at her fingernails, alternating staring at her hands with staring out of the window. She would occasionally glance at her partner to assess his state of mind, then immediately avert her gaze as he continued to radiate anger. Instinct and years of standing beside the man warned her that some of his ire was directed at her, and she knew now was not the time to initiate a conversation. She barely tolerated the silence, anxiety level rising as the drive continued, and now put one finger in her mouth to suck on the bleeding cuticle as her frustration translated into self mutilation.

Marshall drove on auto pilot, the route between his house and Mary's etched into his subconscious until the day he died. Higher brain functions were occupied by the events of the last half hour and he needed to stay focused on the present as he gauged the mood of the woman sitting next to him. She was clearly agitated and angry, her hands busy translating mental angst into physical action, and Marshall fought guilt over his own irritation with her. He wouldn't be able to speak with her right now as she would be defensive and waspish, leading them into an argument neither of them wanted.

As he pulled into his driveway, Mary unbuckled and was out of the car as it idled to a stop. She had grabbed her bag and was halfway up the walk before Marshall caught up to her. Stepping inside the front door, he snagged the tote over her shoulder and halted her progress into the house.

"Stop," he said calmly. "Don't take your bag and stalk into the bedroom, close the door and shut me out."

Mary tugged a bit on the strap and sighed, he wasn't letting go. "Listen, numbnuts, you're mad at me…I'm mad at me. We're both pissed at Jinx. If we stay in the same room we're just going to fight."

"Could we try to just talk instead of fight?" Marshall suggested, releasing his grip on her bag. Permitting her leave if she wanted to take it.

He watched the emotions ripple across her face as she wrestled with the decision. Chest tight as she turned away, then shrugging his shoulders in relief as she dropped the bag in the hall and leaned on the wall to face him.

"I'm sorry, okay? I knew it would be a disaster and I went over there anyway. You were the one who wanted to stay." Mary slid a sideways glance at him while she studied the thermostat.

"And I'm glad I did, although I could've gone without witnessing yet another stellar example of why I dislike your mother. I'm sorry I took you over there."

Mary blew the hair off her face as she tossed her head. "I don't know what I expected. Actually, I do. I expected exactly what I got and I'm mad at myself for walking into it and for reacting so badly."

Marshall furrowed his brow, "She was well out of line, even for her. Your reaction was mild compared to what mine would've been."

Mary shook her head with a sigh, "You'd think I'd know better by now. I don't know why I thought she might have an ounce of sympathy for me this time. And what she said about you…" she trailed off, then straightened and shook herself before he could reply.

"Well, that's Jinx. The little visual I gave her will ward her off for a while. Just take what she says with a pound of salt and forget about it." Mary offered a tight smile as she met his eyes.

Her defense irked him. Remembering the pain he saw on Mary's face with her mother's comments, the sight of bruises and cuts; Marshall couldn't stop the questions from forming.

"Why do you make excuses for her? What she just did to you was unacceptable, and what she said about me was insulting. Why do you try to smooth things over so she can hurt you again and again?"

"What else should I do?" Mary raised her voice, "Slap her, yell at her, tell her she sucks as a mother? I've done all that and more. She just rewrites history the way she wants so it plays out in her favor anyway, so what's the point of trying to state my case? It's easier to just walk away."

He was frustrated. "But why do you keep going back? Why do you continue to soothe her ruffled feathers by stuffing down your own hurt when she doesn't even care about you?"

"Of course she cares!" Mary snapped, eyes flashing. "She's just not very good at it."

He had hit a nerve. Mary snatched her bag from the floor and blinked back tears as she turned towards the bedroom. "She's my mother. Of course she cares." The door slammed behind her, leaving him in silence.

"_Of course she cares…"_ Her statement echoed in his mind and he suddenly understood. She went back again and again, mended bridges and maintained contact despite her own hurts because she still sought the one thing denied her. The comfort of a parent for a wounded child. Limped home in hopes of some shred of compassion only to have salt rubbed in her wounds and experience rejection yet again.

It was the final emotional straw in the whole situation, and Marshall felt himself tearing apart at the seams. He couldn't protect her from herself, couldn't protect her from the world; the feelings of powerlessness and frustration welled up and brought tears to his eyes. All his anger and fear needed to be directed somewhere…onto someone, and he knew he couldn't remain in this house without losing it. It was time to shoot something.

* * *

Mary angrily swiped at the tears on her face after shutting the guestroom door. She was angry with herself for losing control in front of Marshall, angry with Marshall for pushing the issue, and angry with Jinx for proving, yet again, that her life and her family were totally fucked.

Mary hadn't expected any outpouring of compassion from her mother, no heart to heart talks or tea by the fireplace; just an acknowledgement of her pain and possibly an offer of support. But it was never that easy with Jinx. You couldn't just pour your heart out or spill your frustrations, you had to build every sentence with care; wrap it in glittery tissue paper and scent it with potpourri so that it didn't offend her sense of entitlement or clash with her carefully built world of self aggrandizement . Your pain couldn't outshine her perceived hardships and you had to make sure you didn't offer any fodder for her quest towards martyrdom. It was more difficult than a high wire act without a net, and Mary didn't know why she thought she had been up to it today.

She was glad the sight of her injuries had offended them; upset them to the point of tears. A reality check in order to stop any further insults to herself or her partner. Mary fell face down on the bed as she thought about Marshall's reaction today. She had seen the pain in his eyes as he gently urged her to pull her shirt down, felt the care with which he steadied her hands. He never even looked at her mother or sister after that as his attention was totally focused on her needs. Gathering her things, whispering assurances and herding her out the door. Caring for her.

Mary realized he wasn't angry with her for her actions at the house, but for her willingness to stand as a target within Jinx's line of sight. That, and for not even ducking after she had heard the shot. If Marshall were to do the same, Mary knew she would crawl up one side of him and down the other as she read him the riot act; refusing to watch him get hurt. All Marshall had done in the past week is watch her take blow after blow, deflecting what he could but unable to stop them all. Mary knew his veneer of emotional control must be wearing thin. She needed to let him rest. Needed to take herself out of the arena for a little while.

Getting to her feet with a groan, Mary took a deep breath and ventured back out into the living room. The house was silent, and after a few minutes of looking into various rooms her eyes fell on the note left on the kitchen counter.

_Mary,_

_Had to take a little break. I'll be back by dark._

_M._

She sighed and slowly shook her head. Putting her needs before his own even when he was wrestling his own hurts. They needed to talk. Looking out the front window, Mary noted the SUV in the driveway, but the truck was gone. She knew where he had gone.

* * *

He could hear his pulse slow slightly as he let the breath he had held slowly leak through his nose. Arm steady, hands solidly wrapped around the warm butt of his Glock, Marshall gently squeezed the trigger as the last bit of air left his lungs. The recoil was absorbed instinctively through his bicep and shoulder as the frictional heat from the barrel could be felt on his hand. Eyes never leaving the target, Marshall grinned slightly at his accuracy. There was no mercy for his targets today. Kill shots were not on his mind as much as inflicting pain and suffering.

He had taken some ribbing after his first rounds. The guys asking if he needed a date or offering to order him pharmaceuticals. Marshall flipped them off with candor, tossing back expected insults and feeling some of his tension slide away with the allowed crudeness. He had been wound tighter than he thought; worry and watchfulness taking their toll. Berating himself immediately for allowing a slight twinge of guilt for leaving her, Marshall loaded his next clip and jammed his ear protectors back on his head. She was fine, and she would kick his ass if she knew he worried otherwise.

Hoping to regain the fleeting sense of calm experienced moments before, he piloted another target down the alley and fixed his stance as the paper stilled. The clip was emptied without pause between shots and the paper man now sang soprano without a mouth. He hummed a little tune of satisfaction as he pressed the button to retrieve the target.

"You do know that Stan will make you fill out the long forms if that's your new method of disabling a threat?"

Mary watched him still at the sound of her voice and suspected he was having a heated debate in his own head. She was right. Marshall slowly unhooked his target and folded in that neat way that usually irritated her. Today, she understood his need for routine and rote action. She waited to be acknowledged.

"I was trying to get away, you know. Needed some practice time here." He still didn't look at her.

"That was your last clip and your time in the nest is up in three minutes." She had waited in the gallery until she knew he was done.

"I might have signed up for another stint."

"You never shoot two events back to back. Your left eye starts to twitch."

"I was thinking about going out for a drink…alone."

"You were wondering if you had time to stop for a six pack and still get home before dark," Mary said gently, her words only audible to him as she smiled slightly at his peevishness.

Marshall turned to regard his partner leaning against the wall. Her hands in her pockets and head tilted slightly, she looked the epitome of ease. A clever façade, as sudden loud laughter and taunts amongst friends down the line caused her to flinch and grimace almost imperceptively. Noticeable only to someone who knew her well; who watched her over the years and recognized the subtle tells of nervousness.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked.

Mary grinned, "You were mad, you wrote that you needed a break and your truck was gone. Even Dershowitz could've figured that one out, Cowboy."

Marshall suddenly narrowed his eyes at her. "You drove here."

She shrugged. "The doctor never said I **couldn't** drive, just that I **shouldn't**."

Levering off the wall as he rolled his eyes and gathered his weapon, Mary extended a peace offering, "Can I buy you that drink, Slick?"

* * *

The ended up sprawled in Marshall's deck chairs working their way through an inexpensive bottle of whiskey as the first stars of the evening dotted the sky. Both now feeling the warming effects of the alcohol, their benign chatter regarding the ethnicity of the family who owned the corner store and the disputed merits of owning a dog turned towards the more serious subject of her reinstatement.

"I hope the psychologist doesn't drag this out. I don't have the patience for that crap."

"Psychiatrist," he drawled.

"What?"

"You're seeing a psychiatrist, not a psychologist. The former has a medical degree while the latter does not."

"Yet neither of them have the sense to go into a career that's spelled phonetically. Go figure." Mary poured herself another finger of amber liquid, sure she was going to need it if he was going to start spouting random facts.

Marshall chuckled at her dismissal, then sobered as his thoughts wandered back to the events of the day. "I'm sorry I bailed on you today."

"You had your reasons. I haven't exactly made this whole thing easy on you."

"And you shouldn't have to worry about making any of this easy on anyone. You're the injured party, here, not me."

Mary turned her head to see him. "This is hurting you too and I'd be crazy not to see it. I know how I can be, rushing headlong into everything. Know I dragged you on a rollercoaster ride the first couple of days. You haven't gotten any more rest than I have and you're trying to play too many roles. You're trying to anticipate what's coming next and protect me from it. It's too much."

Marshall hadn't realized she saw as much as she did. He wondered what else she saw.

"I wouldn't know how to do it any other way, Mare. Especially with this…with you. What I saw today, those marks on you. Even with everything you've told me I hadn't truly realized what you went through. And there're still parts missing from your story if your injuries have anything to say. It's hard for me to let you put yourself back out there for injury and insult when you haven't even healed from the last round. And, as you noted, you're quite talented at finding the roughest neighborhoods to play in."

His voice was roughened by liquor and emotion, and Mary felt her eyelids prick with tears at the sentiment. Silence descended for a few minutes until he spoke again.

"You're going to want to go home soon and I'm not ready for that."

"I'm going to **have** to go home soon, and I'm not ready for that either," Mary added. "I can dream here without nightmares and fall apart without explanation. I feel safe here…safe with you. But I can't let you carry my load for me forever, Marshall. You need to rest too."

She was right, and he was touched by her concern for him. Her protection.

"Can I rest with you next to me for a few more days?" He tentatively asked, surprised at his own boldness.

Mary's hand found his own and she laced their fingers together. "Don't tell Stan."

* * *

***** Awww. Bullets and whiskey soothe the angsty soul...at least for a while. I'd like to say the pair is through all the rough spots...but that would be a lie. They're getting there. Please let me know your thoughts and concerns!! I love the REVIEWS!! *****


	20. Sharing

***** So many thanks to roar526 for her unending support and willingness to pry her eyes open with toothpicks well into the night as I seek validation! *****

***** Therapists are fun! At least Marshall has a good time. Mary discovers information she may not be ready to see. *****

* * *

"_**As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being.**__**"**_

– _**Carl Jung**_

"_**In the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. In the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless in those who have never achieved his title.**_

– _**Ayn Rand**_

* * *

She hadn't been in a therapist's office since she and Marshall had shot their way out of the Henderson mess four years ago. Mary busied herself with counting the number of places to sit; considering you could fit three on the large couch, it came to seven. She wondered if seven people ever got counseled all at once. Maybe group therapy or a family session. The shrink probably garnered a lot of information just from watching where people sat; who jostled who out of position and whether people sat in the same spot all the time. It was something she would note about witnesses when they first met. How did they approach an empty room, where did they sit, how did they sit, who did they address first…little habits and behaviors that could open a book on larger issues and problems before she was done writing down their new name. Before they started lying to her.

Mary knew when people were lying to her immediately, when they were hiding something or hoping to fool her. It was innate, and she was always right. She couldn't even tell you what one thing tipped her off…she just knew. Maybe that's why it was so difficult for her to trust; everyone had something to hide, and that blip of evasiveness always showed up on her radar.

They had lied to her all day in that basement. From the moment she focused groggy eyes on Spanky as he told her they'd let her go until the instant before her wrists were free as one of them whispered that he wouldn't hurt her this time. That's why she kept fighting even though they promised to stop if she quit. The lies were wasted on her, and she knew the only way she'd leave that basement if she listened to them was in a bag.

"Mary?" A soft voice startled her out of her reverie and she jumped in surprise.

A woman about her age stood in front of her with an assessing gaze and Mary looked at her questioningly.

"I called your name a few times, but you were off somewhere else," the woman explained. "Take a seat wherever you'd like, please."

Mary chose a burgundy recliner. It looked comfortable and she could see the door. The woman continued to speak as she sat in a chair across from her client.

"I know Dr. Weibert talked to you about me this morning, right?" Mary nodded and the woman continued, "I'm Melanie Nelson, and I'll be your counselor for as long as you feel the need to keep coming to see me."

Mary shook her hand with a wry grin, "Well, I hope to keep this to a minimum number of visits. I tend to bounce back fairly quickly."

"That would be a great thing to see," replied Melanie, "but try not to put a time limit on it yet. Let's see where things go and let it play out how it needs to."

Shrugging indifferently, Mary silently agreed and waited for Melanie to start asking questions.

The women briefly discussed the general sequence of events during Mary's abduction and captivity, Mary offering the surface details and unwilling to delve any deeper for now. She told Melanie about pushing herself to the point of illness and exhaustion immediately afterwards, and played down the interaction between herself and Jinx. Melanie asked her for clarification here and there, but mainly jotted notes while she sat and listened attentively.

"So, you're not staying at home right now?" Melanie asked.

"No. I'm staying at my partner's house. It's quieter and cleaner."

"And safer, right?"

Mary stared at her for moment, recalling her words to Marshall the night before. "Yes. It's safe."

"Have you been there the whole time? Even right after your escape?"

"Yeah, he's been kind enough to help me get through the rough spots." Mary wondered where this was going. The game was afoot.

"So, he knows what happened? You've told him about your nightmares and about your injuries?"

"Of course. He's been my partner for over six years. Who else would I turn to?" Mary snapped.

"Your family?" Mary snorted with the suggestion and Melanie's eyebrows rose. "So, not your family."

"I'm closer to Marshall than I've ever been to my family. He definitely knows me better than they do."

"What does Marshall think about all this?"

Mary furrowed her brow, "What do you mean? He thinks it's a cluster fuck the same as me. Thinks the FBI screwed up, thinks my sister screwed up and thinks the men that did this to me should've been nailed to a tree by their dicks. Is that what you're asking?"

"Partly. But more than that I was wondering what Marshall thought about taking care of you."

Mary thought about her partner shooting strategic holes in paper targets the day before. The emotion in his voice as he described his feelings towards her attackers, her recovery and her eminent departure from his home.

She answered hesitantly, "I think it's been hard on him. He offered me the option of staying as long as I want, but I think it's taking its toll. He won't admit it, of course."

"Are you planning on going home sometime soon?" Melanie saw Mary's shoulders slump slightly at the question.

"I need to. I need to get back on my own two feet and let Marshall have his life back."

"But you don't want to," the therapist suggested.

Mary was silent for a few minutes as she thought about everything she and Marshall had gone through in the last week. How he had been able to handle everything she threw at him in addition to everything that had been thrown at her. Thought about living in her own house with her family and how different it would be.

"They're not ready for me, my family," Mary stated grimly. "They know about the assault, but I don't think they're aware of the ramifications. They won't be ready for the nightmares and the panic attacks and the flashbacks. I don't know how that's going to look."

Melanie marked a few things before asking, "Have you experienced those things while with Marshall?"

"All of it, plus my idiotic stunt that landed me back in the hospital. He's been there for every ugly moment. And yet he stays…and lets me stay. The man is a glutton for punishment."

Looking thoughtful, Melanie suddenly asked, "Is Mr. Mann in the waiting room right now?"

Mary looked puzzled, "Mmmhmm. He wouldn't leave. Why?"

"Can I have him come in here for a minute?"

"I reiterate…Why?" Mary was not going to spill her guts in front of her partner.

"I want to talk to you about some coping mechanisms you can use for the nightmares and the flashbacks so you have some recourse when you go back home. I think he should know about them too, since he seems to be the person you currently spend the most time with, and will still spend a large amount of time with once you're reinstated. Saves you the trouble of having to explain it to him later."

"Oh. Well, sure, that would be fine then." Mary was relieved. The therapist was just being efficient.

Melanie called out to the receptionist, and Marshall appeared at the door a moment later looking confused and slightly concerned. Introductions were made and he was invited in. Sitting on the couch, he glanced at Mary with a shrug and a questioning eyebrow.

"Welcome to the party, nitwit. Dr. Phil has some info for us," Mary teased.

Melanie talked about the differences between nightmares, panic attacks and flashbacks. Some clues as to which was occurring and some general information about working through each of them. Mary had no idea her brain was so messed up. She was slightly discouraged when the therapist told them these things could go on for years and her sigh captured Marshall's attention.

"They'll get milder and occur less and less, Mare. Right, Melanie?" he offered encouragement.

"That's usually the case. Although a subsequent traumatic event can trigger flashbacks from older events."

Mary huffed, "Great. So you're saying I could be chasing down some hump someday and have one of those flashbacks I had the other day? A lot of fucking good I'd be at that point as he takes my gun and shoots me with it because I'm curled on the ground sucking my thumb."

Marshall winced. His reaction noted by Melanie as she tried to reassure Mary, "Flashbacks rarely occur during a strenuous event when you're focused on something. They tend to lie in wait and surprise you when all seems well. When your mind is easily distracted. That's one of the reasons giving you a focus if you're experiencing a flashback is an effective way to end it. That tap on the foot pulls your unconscious mind back to the present, back to something unrelated to the event. Also, you'll learn your own body's cues as to when a panic attack or flashback is about to occur. There're usually some subtle signs that you notice and then you can work yourself through it. But at first, you'll need someone to help you."

"What if there's no one there?" Mary tried not to sound nervous.

"It'll run its course, but you'll be pretty wiped out afterwards. It's similar to having a bad nightmare while home alone versus having a bad nightmare when there's someone in bed next to you. Easier with help."

The partners gazed at each other for a moment, the comforts of each other's presence during the night well remembered.

"So, Marshall, is she ready to go home to her house?" Melanie suddenly asked.

Marshall looked at Mary, then back at the therapist. "Mary tends to do things when she wants to, not necessarily when she's ready to."

"Thanks, dumbass," Mary sneered.

"That's not what I asked." Melanie smiled, watching the partners trade looks. "Do you think she's ready to go home, sleep by herself and interact with her family?"

Mary shot a glance at Melanie, wondering why she said 'sleep by herself' while Marshall pondered the question.

"I think she's going to do whatever she feels she's ready to do in order to move her recovery forward as quickly as possible. Whether her physiological state is equipped to deal with any psychological demands will remain to be seen. I suspect she hasn't yet experienced the wide range of environmental factors that could be detrimental to her mental state, but trying to negotiate that topic with her can be a slippery slope. The more one insists on caution, the harder Mary will push to prove her ability to overcome the laws of physics."

Mary stared at him, agape. "What the fuck did you just say? Did you just insult me?" She turned to address Melanie, "Don't listen to him, and don't ask him any more questions. He's tricky. Uses words to confuse you and then you end up doing his bidding before you know what happened. He's like Obi Wan Kenobi in cowboy boots."

Marshall gave her a little self satisfied smile, liking the comparison to the Jedi knight. Mary curled her lip at him.

Melanie cautioned Mary about moving forward too quickly and reminded her to keep Marshall aware of what was going on mentally and physically as he was her source of comfort at this time. Mary obligingly rolled her eyes and reluctantly agreed. Their time was up, and Melanie placed Mary on her calendar for another appointment four days later. The pair left the office with Mary badgering Marshall to take her to lunch.

* * *

Stan called Marshall shortly before he and Mary had finished lunch, wanting the marshals to stop by the office in order to meet with Bobby D. regarding Brandi's case. The FBI had closed the investigation into Mary, but they handed the drug trafficking and possession allegations over to the local PD; the Feds happy with Spanky.

Bobby greeted them as they got off the elevator, surprised at Mary's appearance. "Good God, girl! You look about a thousand times better than you did five days ago."

Mary gave him a genuine smile, "It's amazing what a little sleep and a lot less captivity will do for you."

"How are things?" he asked.

She felt Stan and Marshall looking at her as they awaited her response and suddenly felt exposed. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugged one shoulder as she dropped her gaze to the floor. "Day to day, Dershowitz. Some better than others."

Marshall read her cues and deflected the attention away from his partner. "So, what are we having a powwow about today? And just to note, authentic powwows were not venues for discussion and decision making. They were often multi-tribe gatherings to celebrate calendar events, and involved hours to days of dancing, story telling and tests of strength and courage. Which, of course, you all should know as we live in a city where the Native American population has an active and highly visible cultural presence."

Bobby stood still and listened to Marshall's tutorial while Mary and Stan tuned him out after the phrase 'and just to note', knowing what was to follow. They moved over to the conference table.

"He's going to be insufferable today, Stan. The therapist asked him his opinion," Mary explained.

"Oh, God," Stan groaned, "He'll strut around with that around his neck for a week," Mary chuckled.

Finally getting down to business, the four people discussed Brandi's case and probable outcomes. All seemingly involving jail time of some sort if the ADA decided to prosecute.

"I'd like to say I could pull some strings, Mary, but…" Bobby trailed off.

Mary wrinkled her nose with her reply, "The charges are legit and she's admitted to all of them. I think she knows she's looking at a little time in the lock up. She'll probably accessorize the jumpsuits."

Stan and Marshall exchanged a look, both slightly surprised by Mary's blasé attitude. Marshall wondered how much of it was due to Brandi's slip of the tongue to Jinx.

Shop talk transitioned into sports chatter between Stan and Bobby as they wrapped up; Marshall excusing himself to run down to the evidence room while he was in the building. As Stan dragged Bobby to his office to review online stats, Mary was left sitting at the conference table with all the case files. They had only been looking through Brandi's, but the FBI's copy and her personal file sat in a little pile just beyond her reach. She stared at the innocuous, tan file folders stuffed with printouts and photographs. M. E. Shannon, APD – SAU13455609T. She knew the code behind the letters and numbers, but it was unsettling to see it attached to her name.

Glancing about the office and seeing no one's attention directed her way, she stood and scooped up the files and retreated to the patio area on the roof through the conference room doors. Choosing a table beyond the view of the office within, Mary sat and placed the files in front of her, hand resting on the cover. She needed to fill in the gaps, remember the details and remind herself of resolution.

The police report was the easiest to read so she started there. Timelines and the names of the dead and incarcerated. She read about the convoluted hunt and hastily organized rescue; trying to recall whether she knew there were that many people there at the end. Marshall and Stan were the two she remembered seeing, then Dershowitz outside. Lights and vehicles, but her mind didn't remember people; all was silent. Even the EMTs were ghosts. It wasn't until she thought of the ER that sounds and faces reentered her memories.

Her statement was next and Mary's hands began to shake as she read her own words. Clipped sentences without elaboration, she had answered the questions asked and revealed the facts. It was long. She didn't remember sitting there that long.

Her breathing increased as she opened the next folder; hesitated for a moment then berated herself for giving in to fear. Pictures. The CSI team was thorough, capturing all evidence of the events and the death masks of those who did not survive. Mary went through them slowly, unable to stop the rush of memories each provoked and she visibly flinched at the photos of two dead men. They had names now, but she couldn't bring herself to fit them to the faces. She unconsciously rubbed her hands on her jeans after touching the pictures, taking a deep breath to slow the pounding pulse in her veins. Catching a scent in the air, Mary realized Marshall was standing behind her.

He had come back to the office to find Mary gone. Asking after her with no answer, his gaze fell on the conference table and the missing file folders. There were a limited number of hidey holes and he started his search. Approaching silently in order to keep from startling her, Marshall watched Mary carefully arrange the file contents on the table in front of her. She was likely unaware of the small sounds she made as some pieces of information were revealed, and by the time he saw her flinch in response to uncovering the photos of her rapists he thought he needed to intervene. She beat him to it.

"I can't remember everything. There are gaps and I thought this might help," she explained hoarsely, her voice failing her.

Marshall stepped closer and pulled a chair over to sit next to her. "I'm not surprised you don't remember everything."

She pushed her statement over in front of him. "Some of the things I told them about aren't things I remember now. I forgot they had happened until I read my own report. Have you read it?"

"No. You haven't asked me to yet."

Mary looked over and met his gaze. It was an unreadable mix of emotions and she turned her eyes back to the table in order to escape it.

"I was in there for a long time, but I remember it as snapshots and movie clips. Almost flickering like those old filmstrips we used to watch in health class. The funny thing is that other than voices, I don't remember any sounds…not even the gunshots. Odd." Mary spoke very quietly and Marshall had to lean in slightly to listen.

She tapped at the photo of the man she had killed. "This one. He was a wuss. I must have broken his nose six different times. Not too bright. Just did what Spanky and the other one told him to do. Waited his turn like a good boy. He wanted me to die happy, you know. I could bargain with him if the other one wasn't in the room."

Marshall's gut was tight and he reached out to place his hand on her back, gently rubbing in circles when she didn't protest. As her finger moved to the picture of the dead man upstairs he felt her muscles stiffen under his hand. Her voice dropped and her hand trembled.

"This one. I couldn't bargain with this one. He was playing sick and twisted games and he liked to just inflict pain. He convinced Spanky to let them have me. He did things to me that…" her voice caught and she stopped, jaw clenched.

Marshall scooted a little closer, leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "You don't have to talk about it," he whispered.

Mary was silent for a few minutes, then she reached out to place her statement and the ER report in front of him. She stood and captured his eyes with a steady gaze. "I won't be able to tell you everything. Some because I don't remember, but some because I just can't. I want you to read the reports."

She walked back into the building before she could change her mind, Marshall staring after her for a long moment before turning back to the papers in front of him.

* * *

It was about forty five minutes before he came looking for her, finding her seated in Stan's office going over plans for a potential witness relocation. Sticking his head through the door, he targeted her with his gaze.

"Mare, can I talk to you for a minute?" His face looked pinched.

She excused herself, and Marshall gently took her wrist and led her back outside. Before she could speak, he pulled her into an enveloping embrace and buried his face in her hair. She startled, but quickly relaxed and leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his waist and held on.

* * *

***** So Marshall finally knows the whole story. Obviously, it was a doozy. So glad she's going to spend a few more days with him...he'll need it. Thank you for all your advice, support, encouragement and REVIEWS!! *****

***** thanks to madeofstars to let me know how the tiered system of psychiatrist/psychologist/counselor works...I hope I got it right! *****


	21. Worrying

***** Marshall has a lot to think about, and Mary worries it's too much. And yet another problem rears its not so ugly head. *****

* * *

_**"Life is mostly froth and bubble, Two things stand like stone, Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in your own"**_

_**– Adam Lindsay Gordon**_

_**"The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares."**_

__

**– Henry Nouwen**

* * *

"What do you want for dinner? Chicken, pork, fish…lesbian bar?" Mary watched Marshall as he drove in a near trance-like state.

"What?" Marshall seemed to shake himself slightly as he looked over at her.

"That's what I thought. Where are you over there?" she asked.

Marshall considered his answer carefully. If he was honest with her, she'd be uncomfortable and probably withdraw. If he lied, she'd probably know. He attempted to only slightly blur the truth. At least start with the truth.

"Thinking about all the information we went through at the office. Wondering if there's enough there of interest for the ADA to bring charges, or if Brandi's going to collect yet another get out of jail free card."

Mary studied him for a moment too long, and Marshall glanced nervously in her direction. Suspicious was never a good look on her as it usually was followed by a swing. She surprised him this time.

"It was a mistake, wasn't it?" she asked with a sigh.

"I'm afraid I don't follow. What was a mistake?"

"Telling you to read my files." Mary watched him steadily to gauge his reactions. "I feel like I forced you to do something you didn't really want to do, and now you know things you didn't really want to know."

Mary wished she could erase the knowledge from his head. She wondered what good she possibly thought could come from opening those folders for him. Did she expect something more from him? Hadn't he given enough? Why did she make this harder on him when he was already wrestling his own demons from her circumstances? She watched his expression subtly change as he thought about her statement. Deciding on how much to reveal.

"No, it wasn't a mistake. Please don't think that. But I'm sure you know it was hard to read…hard to see. Hard to think about all the things I should've been doing for you those first couple of days. I should've been so much more careful with you."

"And that's one of the reasons I didn't tell you everything right away…or anything, for that matter," Mary replied. "I knew I couldn't tolerate too much…care…right away. You know me. I'm tough and pigheaded and unwilling to accept defeat. If I would've fallen apart then, you would've been chasing pieces of me into the next county."

"You should've been in the hospital. I can't believe they let me take you out of there." Marshall shook his head in annoyance.

Mary looked slightly abashed, "They wanted me to stay. Wasn't going to happen. There was only one place I wanted to go. Only one place I knew I'd be safe. Where I could crawl into the corner and lick my wounds knowing someone had my back while I was out of commission."

They were both silent for a few minutes as their thoughts tumbled through hoops and they tried to decide what to say.

"I just wanted to hide, Marshall," she offered, head down as she frayed the tie on her sweatshirt. "I can't explain the need to run away…to keep it secret. It was overwhelming. I still want to hide most of the time, just not from you anymore."

Marshall wanted her to run to him, tell him all her secrets and he would hide her away from the rest of the world. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must've been for her to step out and continue to function as she did when every molecule of her being must've been screaming to pull the covers over her head and wait until another day. Physical, mental and emotional pain and grief clamoring for attention and care, and she just shoved it into the background. He really couldn't decide if she was brave or crazy some days.

Mary bit her lip as she sat in her partner's continued silence. She didn't know how else to explain her actions then or now, and she knew it was likely time to just give him room to think. She opened her mouth to suggest an option when her phone rang. Expecting Brandi, Mary answered without looking at the caller i.d.

"Hi Mary," Raph greeted, "I hope you don't mind that I call, but I'm starting to worry about you. And I guess I'm a little impatient for wanting to talk to you again."

She couldn't hang up now, so Mary answered, "Hi Raph. Sorry about that. I've been up to my eyeballs in this case, and until we got everything cleared up I didn't want to be in contact with you."

"Sure. I know you were trying to keep me out of it." Raph reluctantly agreed. "So, when will I get to see you again?"

Mary sighed and Marshall looked over at her, studying her tired and slightly defensive posture. Not comfortable with the man on the other end of the phone yet.

"I don't know, Raph. Maybe we could have lunch in a couple of days or something? I really can't say. Look, I've got to go, but I promise to call tomorrow and figure something out."

Raphael tried to drag out the goodbyes, but Mary finished the conversation swiftly and disconnected. She blew out a breath and wondered for yet another time how she would deal with her boyfriend.

"Are you going to tell him?" Marshall asked, not sure what he wanted to hear. He didn't know if she had made up her mind yet.

Mary turned her phone over in her hands, irritated with the intrusion and Marshall's apparent ability to read her mind. "I don't know. Not exactly a topic that comes up over lunch. Hey, pass the ketchup and by the way I was raped last week. Do you want all of those fries?"

"Mary," Marshall warned.

"What?" she snapped, "Fine. No. I'm not going to tell him. I don't want him to know."

Marshall drew in a breath and rolled his head, clearly agitated by her answer. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Obviously, you disagree. Do I get a choice as to whether you'll enlighten me or not?" She rolled her eyes and looked out the window. _"Of course I don't"_ she thought as she heard him take in a breath to speak.

"He's not a casual acquaintance, Mare. You have an established physical relationship with the man that he's going to expect you to continue. That would be normal. He won't have any reason to step back and let you regroup. I think you just need to keep that in mind."

His words were stilted and she knew he was trying to tread carefully. He was right. She didn't know what excuses she would use to avoid the physical contact. And the thought of sex actually caused her to shudder. Not yet.

They pulled into Marshall's driveway and Mary leapt at the chance to escape the discussion.

"Look, I'm tired, I hurt and I'm hungry. I'll think about it, and we can talk later, okay?" Not giving him a chance to answer, Mary slid out of the truck and headed to the house.

Marshall's mind wasn't in any better of a place than it was when they started the drive, and mental images of Raphael and Mary now skewed his thoughts into a darker place. The worry ratcheted up a notch or two and Marshall felt a headache coming on. She stood on the porch waiting for him. He watched her for a minute, then sighed deeply and swung himself out the door.

* * *

***** Yes, I know it's short. Transition for M/M here, and a new episode of IPS slowed me down in real life. Mary thinks Marshall is overloaded, Marshall has his own hesitations, wonder if they're still speaking to each other after dinner?? Stay tuned, and please REVIEW!! *****


	22. Thinking

***** Time to think and ponder. Too much thinking. *****

* * *

_**"One does nothing who tries to console a despondent person with word. A friend is one who aids with deeds at a critical time when deeds are called for."**_

_**-- Euripides**_

_**"Victory and defeat are each of the same price."**_

_**– Thomas Jefferson**_

* * *

He didn't let her help prepare dinner; insisted she go change and rest on the couch. Of course, Mary tried to argue, but Marshall cut her off with a gesture and a few well placed words.

"Rest, sit, sprawl, chill out, count the threads in the cushions. I don't care. But you're wincing and pulling up short and it's giving me angina. It's been a long day and I'm going to relax while I cook." He stared at her for a long moment.

Mary mentally translated_, "Get the hell out of my kitchen, put your ass on the couch before I put it there and give me a half hour to pull myself together."_ She tossed him a mock salute and wandered towards the guest room.

He watched her disappear down the hallway and stretched his arms over his head to relieve the kink in his neck. Turning to the pantry, Marshall pulled out ingredients for dinner and recited some of his favorite lines of literature in his head in order to clear the cobwebs from his brain and reset his thoughts. Dickens while he chopped some onions and peppers, Austen as he browned the chicken and decided on the right combination of spices, Twain while the pasta boiled. By the time he put the sauce over the chicken and set the pan in the oven, he had moved onto his favorite musical artists and was humming softly; mind engaged in the mindless as dishes were washed and rinsed.

Mary turned on the TV as she settled onto the couch, Marshall busy abusing the vegetables and laying out pans. There was nothing exciting on and she flipped through the channels a few times before deciding on a mildly interesting medical show. It was probably something her partner would expound upon, but she was tired and distracted and didn't care enough to pay attention. Turning down the sound, she swung her legs up and lay on the cushions with the intention to close her eyes for just a minute. Marshall was humming now, and the soothing drone dragged her under.

As he piled the last of the dishes on the towel to dry, he realized how quiet it was. Peeking into the other room, Marshall smiled as he observed Mary sound asleep on the couch. _"No, not tired at all,"_ he thought with a shake of his head. Turning the temperature down on the oven, he let the chicken simmer while allowing his partner to remain in slumber. Dinner could wait.

* * *

_It was dark and silent. She peered hard into the darkness, but there was no hint of light. Black. Quiet. The air heavy on her skin and breathing felt…wrong._

_A rustle of cloth and her heart rate jumped up to double. Where was it? She tried to turn around and look, but could not move. Trapped. Nothing held her down but her limbs would not obey her mind's frantic commands. Move. Run._

_She swallowed and opened her mouth to yell only to be met with more silence. Tried again and heard her breath escape, but no sound accompanied it. Mute. Trapped. Rustle._

_JesusJesusJesus...her mind raced and she strained against whatever invisible force held her captive and silent. A whisper from the dark, wordless, and she tried to scream. Nothing. She knew she was crying now, hot tears on her cheek the only sensation separating her from the dark. Get out…she had to get out. Move, goddammit, move!_

_A footstep reverberated in the dark and Mary howled silently in frustration as she stood still as stone. A sacrifice to whatever terror lurked. Unable to fight. Unable to flee. Her chest was going to explode and her gut knotted tightly in despair. No. Run. She cried mutely and willed oblivion._

_A breath on her neck and a whisper… "your hair is pretty" … Escape._

Marshall wasn't sure what caught his attention, his subconscious attuned to subtle signs of distress over the years, but he looked up from the computer and cocked his head; hands hovering above the keyboard to listen. A whimper. On his feet, he moved out towards the family room to investigate. He could hear her now, whimpers interspersed with moans, and he strode to the couch. Mary's face was pinched with pain, tears wet on her cheeks, and Marshall called to her softly as he approached.

She exploded into motion as he reached her, and Marshall instinctively blocked her blows as she cried out to invisible demons. "No! No! Don't!"

The look of utter terror on her face was one he had never seen before, and his chest tightened in sympathy while he tried to orient her by calling her name and offering reassurance, "Mary…Mary! It's okay…you're dreaming. Wake up, now."

She clutched at his arms and pulled him down onto the couch, her breathing too fast and eyes wild. He sat on the cushions next to her and continued to talk her down.

Mary's panic was full blown as she awakened, disoriented and frightened, ready to do battle. Marshall's voice slowly penetrated the fog of the dream and she grabbed him to anchor herself to the here and now. Solid flesh under her hands. Her chest was tight and her arms and legs tingled as though waking from a long sleep.

"Oh my God…oh fuck…" Mary murmured, squeezing Marshall's arms with trembling hands. He continued to try to soothe her quietly, and Mary attempted to slow her breathing and focus on the man in front of her.

He wanted to do more for her, but he wasn't sure if he could touch her yet. She had a death grip on his arms, but Marshall wasn't entirely sure she knew who he was. Mary closed her eyes and began to take some slower and deeper breaths, finally giving him permission to move.

"Give me a minute, Marshall. Just let me hold on for a minute."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere," he replied, reaching forward to gently wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her hands stayed on his arms, mimicking his motions by default.

Mary opened her eyes to meet his gaze and saw the pain there. Her heart did an odd little flip and Mary dropped her eyes in confusion. She remembered the embrace earlier in the day; the comfort and peace she had found pressed against his solid warmth, his breath in her hair. Too attached. She was becoming too attached.

Thankful for his presence and guilty at the same time, she knew she couldn't keep putting him through this. She had no idea how long she'd keep waking in terror, striking out against ghosts and shadows, but she knew he'd continue to fight them for her until he dropped. On guard, never resting himself while he anticipated the next assault.

"I can't keep doing this to you," Mary whispered, reluctantly releasing him to rub her hands together.

Marshall's brow furrowed and he took her hands in his. "Doing what?"

"Falling to pieces and then letting you pick them up. We talked about this last night, remember? I don't know how long I'm going need to regain some semblance of self, but I'm damn sure I'm not going to use you up in the process. I need to let you rest."

"You're talking about going home?" Marshall felt a little queasy.

"Yes. I think I need to go home tomorrow, Marshall. For both our sakes."

He was shaking his head before she finished, "Look at you. If I wasn't here, you'd have spent a good half hour trying to pull yourself back together. You'd be scared, alone and probably not able to go back to sleep. You need to wait a little longer, Mare. Let me help."

"I've asked too much of you already! Jesus, Marshall, I'll only be five miles away. I can call you if I run into a problem…if I can't handle it." She was nearly pleading.

If he fought her on this, she knew she would give in and stay. Stay curled with him each night and close to him each day. It wasn't real, Mary told herself. The trauma would fade and she would emerge, and her partner would stand as he always did. Their relationship solid and the same. She could not allow anything more to be introduced while they were vulnerable to emotions more appropriately directed elsewhere.

He rubbed his face with his hands. She needed him to agree, he knew. Waiting for him to bless her departure and give her permission to stumble to her own two feet. Too many arguments flashed through his mind for him to pick just one; what if she had another flashback? A fight with her mother? A fight with Raph? Nightmares? Sick? He'd worry continuously without her here for him to watch. But, maybe that was a good reason to let her go. The worry had to end sometime.

"Marshall," Mary whispered, hands on his arm, his hair. "You need time, just as I do."

"You'll promise to call?" he asked, pinning her with a stare. "I mean it, Mary. If you let yourself get run down and I find you a mess and sick, I will haul your ass back here with a lecture you'll wish you didn't get. And I'll tell Stan you're not ready to go back to work."

Threats. She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "I promise. I don't want it to be any harder than it has to be either. I will gladly include you in any freak out sessions."

His eyes softened and he reached out with one hand to cup her cheek briefly. Lips twitching in a weak smile, Marshall nodded his agreement. Rising, he headed to the kitchen to rescue their dinner, action needed to distract himself from the decision.

Mary sighed and relaxed. One more night of peace.

* * *

Her eyes opened to the sight of the ceiling fan spinning slowly in the night. Something had woken her, but Mary didn't see or hear anything immediately near her. Confused, she rolled over and listened for any sounds in the house through the open door. Nothing. Awake now, Mary slid out of bed and ventured out into the hallway to satisfy her curiosity.

She had insisted on taking the guest bed, needing to sleep alone to prove she could. So far, all had been well and it wasn't a nightmare that woke her now. Continuing down the hall past Marshall's room, Mary noted the door was open and the bed empty. Her partner was afoot somewhere. Recalling the last time she found him missing during the wee hours, Mary padded into the living room and looked out the sliding doors into the back yard. There he sat, back to the house, elbows on his knees as he gazed across the yard. She reached out to open the door and froze, fingertips barely brushing the handle.

Marshall had tossed and turned for nearly an hour after awakening from his dream. There was no way he was getting back to sleep. Mary snored softly in the other room and he briefly thought of crawling in with her; rebuking himself nearly immediately as it would make the thought of her leaving more unbearable. Throwing the covers off, he rose and used the restroom, then journeyed through the house and out the back doors.

The night was dark and still, summer constellations sprinkled across the sky with the smudge of the Milky Way faintly visible; new moon. Crickets and frogs vying for center stage, Marshall allowed the sounds of the night to comfort him. The nighttime was for secrets and wishes, no harsh lights or sounds to chase them away. He could think without interruption. Tonight, he would've preferred the interruption.

She was lost in the dream, calling him again, but he didn't find her…Raph did. The other man tugging on her arm as she stumbled after him, Mary looked confused and afraid and Marshall could do nothing. They couldn't see him and his calls to his partner went unheeded. A door opened for them, and her family stood on the other side berating her for being late. Raphael pushed her through the door and it slammed shut and faded away. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the dream meant.

Marshall knew she wasn't ready to leave. Knew she would not be left to rest or heal at her house. They would all demand of her, want her to guide them and comfort them and Mary would oblige. He couldn't stop her…couldn't stop them. She'd give and they'd take until she was exhausted and spent. And Raph. He wouldn't be careful with her because he wouldn't know. He'd push her, she'd try to play the game and Marshall didn't want to think about where that would go.

Placing his head in his hands, Marshall once again remembered her time in that basement, now peppered with pictures and words. Beaten. Humiliated. Tortured. He wasn't there to save her then, and he felt like he wouldn't be there to save her now. Failed again. He wept.

Mary watched his shoulders shake and stood rooted. She had only seen him cry once before, under stress and in pain, and her tears had joined his without her consent. This time too, Mary felt the tears prick her eyelids. Too far. She had pushed him too far. She pulled her hand back from the door and turned towards the hall.

Marshall entered the dark house a short while later, tears spent and mind slightly clearer. They would work through it. Quietly walking into his bedroom, he startled slightly at the sight of her form in his bed. Hesitating for just a moment, Marshall then sent up a silent prayer of thanks and slid in next to her. She stirred, rolled over and looked at him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said quietly.

"You didn't," she replied, "I was up."

Her steady gaze told him what she had seen and he laid back against the pillow with a frustrated sigh. "Mary…"

"Marshall, come here," she urged, tugging at his t-shirt until he rolled towards her.

Mary coaxed him into her embrace, ultimately getting him to lay his head on her chest. He was reluctant and stiff, either uncomfortable with the gesture or unsure of her intent, she didn't know. Holding him there, she finally felt him relax into her, his arm snaking around her waist and gripping her shirt. He breathed deeply for a while as Mary stroked his hair, finally drifting off to sleep with her quietly humming. Mary followed suit a few minutes later.

* * *

***** Oh, it's hard. It's hard for them. She's not ready. He's not ready. An unstable truce. You know it's never easy with these two! I'm hoping tonight's longer chapter soothes the ruffled feathers of the shorter chapter LOL! Thank you for all your REVIEWS!! *****


	23. Separating

***** Well, she's back at home and Marshall gets called away. A day of drama awaits. This chapter outlines a lot of what took place in the season 1 episode A Fine Meth *****

***** I have two big performances tomorrow and will not get a chance to write...thus, I'll have to deny you a new chapter tomorrow :( Please throw only fresh vegetables! *****

* * *

"_**Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow.**__**" **_

– _**Mary Anne Radmacher**_

"_**If you wait to do everything until you're sure it's right, you'll probably never do much of anything.**__**" **_

– _**Win Borden**_

* * *

"Oh, for the love of God, Marshall," Mary exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air, "I have everything I need. If you don't get out of my house in the next five minutes I will shoot you in the ass with your own gun."

It was bad enough that they were dragged out of bed at 6:30 in the morning by Stan's urgent call to her partner, but now Mary was frustrated with Marshall's efforts to cocoon her in her own home. He fussed over how much food was in the refrigerator, whether she had clean sheets on the bed, was the laundry done, had she fixed the deadbolt, was her backup piece available…a continuous litany of questions coupled with his nervous assessment of her surroundings.

He sighed, hands on hips as he regarded her standing in front of him in the foyer; arms now crossed and glaring at him. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, Mary. You know how these things work. I fully intend to be back in town late tonight, but if Robert gets squirrely in Santa Fe I may have to take him all the way to Amarillo. That'll delay me a whole day. Dammit." He tossed his head in annoyance.

Unhappy and rebelling in Albuquerque, Marshall's paranoid witness demanded a transfer enough times to finally get his wish. They had to move him today, of course, and Marshall was the only marshal Robert trusted. He wouldn't even talk to Mary. Hopefully, he would accept transportation from his new marshals in Santa Fe. The guy was a nutcase in Marshall's eyes, and WITSEC should've unloaded him years ago, but the ADA seemed to think he was worth keeping.

Mary could sense his anger just below the surface. "Hey, just call me and let me know what's going on. You could always tell Robert you were going to drive through Area 51 to get to Amarillo. That would get him out of the car."

"Um, Mary, Area 51 is in Nevada."

"So you'll take the scenic route." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't worry about it. You'll get back when you get back and I'll be fine. Seriously."

"I don't like to road trip without you anyway, and especially with you like this," he said, reaching out to brush his fingers across her shoulder.

She didn't know what prompted her to do it. What impulse control filter failed that allowed her to step forward and reach up to kiss him lightly on the lips, but she certainly surprised them both. Marshall blinked at her, hand still on her shoulder, and Mary felt her cheeks flush as she offered an apology.

"Yeah…not sure what that was. Sorry."

Seeing her embarrassment, Marshall grinned and shrugged, "Call it a kiss for good luck. Always appreciated." Letting her off the hook.

She smiled back, "For good luck and thanks. A lot of thanks."

He pointed a finger at her. "Be good."

She slapped it away. "Get out."

Mary was still shaking her head in confusion as Marshall drove away. He grinned all the way downtown.

* * *

She had two hours of peace and quiet before Jinx awoke. Sitting on the couch reading the paper, Mary watched the woman shuffle out of her bedroom towards the kitchen. Coffee her likely destination; vodka the other choice. When primped and freshened, people often had a hard time guessing Jinx's age in the correct decade, but right now she looked all of her sixty plus years. Tired. Used up. Mary wondered if her mother ever thought about where she would be had she chosen a different path forty one years ago. She was sure she did; likely the impetus for now attempting to resurrect a lost dream of fame and notoriety. Jinx would probably sugar coat her efforts in the dramatic, calling it her swan song. Mary was pretty sure it more closely resembled a broken duck call she had found in a friend's basement long ago.

Finally realizing there was fresh coffee in the pot, Jinx looked up in confusion; jumping in surprise as she spotted her daughter staring at her from the couch.

"Oh! Mary, you startled me. You're home?"

Mary nodded, wary of any conversation to follow. "Yep. Came home earlier."

"Where's Marshall?" Jinx asked, peering into the other room.

"He had to go to work."

"So you're staying this time? Moving back in?"

"I never moved out, Mom. Just spent a few days away," Mary replied with a sigh.

Jinx worried her bottom lip as she fixed herself a cup of coffee and Mary continued to watch her. Her mother must've felt her gaze.

"Listen, sweetie, I'm sorry about what I said the other day. It's just that I –" she was cut off by her daughter.

"Mom. Stop. Let's just start from right now; move forward from today. I don't want to rehash it or dwell on it. Okay?" Mary knew any attempt at explanation would only result in more hurt feelings and an argument.

Jinx nodded in agreement and came over to sit on the other end of the couch as Mary went back to reading her article.

"So, how are you feeling?" Jinx asked, not reading Mary's cues that she didn't want to have a conversation.

Closing her eyes for a moment to ask for patience, Mary then answered, "Stiff, sore. Still pretty tired."

"Mary," Jinx began, shifting in her seat as the question was obviously uncomfortable. "Did they catch the men that did this to you?"

Mary cocked her head as she stared at her mother in puzzlement. She hadn't realized Jinx didn't know the whole story, figuring Brandi would've told her by now.

"Didn't anyone update you? Tell you what happened?" Mary asked, gauging the other woman's knowledge.

"No. That FBI agent wouldn't tell me anything, and your boss wasn't very helpful either. You and Marshall have focused on Brandi, so I've just been waiting for someone to tell me what went on. All I know is that Chuck was killed and you were assaulted."

Setting the paper down, Mary debated about how much to tell her mother. Surely the woman needed some basic knowledge of the events, some reference for future questions or actions. A quick summary should suffice.

"Right. Chuck was shot by Spanky while they had me. I escaped and shot one of the men just as Marshall and Stan found me. Marshall shot the other man. Spanky was arrested later at another location. So to answer your question, yes, we caught them. They're both dead."

Jinx was looking at her in surprise. "You shot and killed someone?"

"Happens sometimes in my line of work. It was self defense, believe me." Mary was a little thrown by Jinx's reaction. "Come on, Mom, you remember when Marshall was shot, right? I'm a U.S. Marshal, it's like being a cop without jurisdictional boundaries. Bullets are occasionally involved."

"But you killed someone," Jinx reiterated. "Isn't that hard?"

"The hard part is filling out all the paper work." Mary snapped. She wasn't having this conversation with her mother; feelings about the event still raw from her discussion with Marshall so many days prior.

"Oh, Mary," Jinx tried to console her. Mary snapped the paper up in front of her face and ignored her mother. Jinx eventually got the hint and turned on the TV with a huff.

* * *

Marshall's phone rang as he headed out of town on I-25. Robert offered his usual advice of 'don't answer that', and Marshall shot him a sideways glance before putting the phone to his ear.

"Marshall."

"Mr. Mann," a female voice replied. "This is Melanie Nelson, the therapist from Dr. Weibert's office. How are you?"

"Fine. What can I do for you?" He was wary. Surely the woman wasn't calling him about Mary, was she?

"I wanted to encourage you to join Mary in counseling. Not necessarily together, but as her closest confidant right now, I feel you would benefit from some sessions also. The recovery process from this type of trauma is often very difficult for persons in your position."

Marshall's ability to reply was hindered by Robert's presence, but he certainly could appreciate the counselor's offer. "That's definitely something for me to think about. I'll have to check with my office, but can I get back to you in a few days?"

"Absolutely," she replied, sounding happy. "How are you and Mary doing?"

"Again, I'll have to get back to you on that," Marshall stated stiffly, hoping Melanie would get the hint.

A pause. "Ah. I understand. Can't talk right now. No problem. Give me a call when you can, Marshall. I look forward to hearing from you."

After hanging up with Melanie, Marshall's thoughts turned towards Mary. Despite his best efforts to erase the moment, he couldn't forget that kiss. It was genuine and sweet; a tangible offering of affection. Most of Mary's spontaneous gestures involved her fists or the middle fingers of both hands, so this had been unexpected and completely out of character. She had surprised herself, he could tell, and for some reason that gave him a sense of encouragement. Towards what, he wasn't quite sure. Hope that she was healing and again reaching out to people? Dropping some physical barriers that now allowed for developing trust? Acting on some faint feelings for him that were now starting to surface? He chuckled slightly at the last thought. A pipe dream, and certainly not something he thought she would notice at a time like this.

He was pulled abruptly out of his reverie by his passenger. "I gotta piss, Marshall," Robert whined.

"What? We just left town twenty minutes ago. Didn't you go before you left the building?" Marshall asked, annoyed.

"I can't piss inside. Never know when the toilet water has been doctored and your urine would produce a cloud of chlorine gas. Deadly, you know," Robert relayed the fact as if Marshall was stupid for not knowing it. "Just pull over and I'll find a bush."

Maybe it was a good thing Mary hadn't been able to join them. Robert would be dead in the desert before they even reached Santa Fe. Marshall sighed.

* * *

Brandi had convinced Mary to lie outside by the pool after lunch. The women relaxed in the lounge chairs, Brandi in a swimsuit and Mary in a t-shirt and shorts. The sun felt good on their faces, and the cool breeze kept them from getting too warm. The younger Shannon was using the time to study, and she had Mary reading questions from the textbook. Brandi was distracted, though, by the bruises on Mary's legs. It made her sick to think of the things that were likely done to her sister as she was chained in the basement. It should've been her. Could've been her if she had been the first one to leave the house that morning. Brandi didn't think she would've survived had she been in Mary's place. Would've likely rolled over and died. Mary was the strong one; physically and mentally, and Brandi just always assumed her sister would win in the end.

"Squish?" Mary asked, calling her sister for the third time.

Brandi shook herself and focused on Mary. "Sorry. Just thinking about other things."

"Chuck?"

Wrinkling her nose, Brandi shook her head, "No. That's done. I was just worrying about you."

Mary smiled faintly at her little sister. "I'll be all right. It'll take some time, but things will get better." She saw Brandi staring at her legs and tried to change the subject.

"Have you heard anything from the lawyer?"

"Hmm? Oh, no. So far so good, I guess," Brandi replied. "He said the prosecutor guy hadn't decided whether I was…wait, he used a phrase…a nut worth cracking."

They shared a chuckle. "You've been cracked for a while, Squish," Mary announced.

"Mary, what if they do charge me? Is it true that I'd have to go to jail even if I explained the whole thing?"

Mary explained the complicated process of entering a plea and the mandatory sentences that would be imposed. Brandi was noticeably upset by the end of her explanation.

"Isn't there anything you can do? I don't want to go to jail," Brandi pleaded.

Mary gave her a stern look, "Don't ask me that. Not after everything that happened. Not only would it be useless for me to try to manipulate things, but this is your mess, not mine. You have to step up this time, Squish. I believe Marshall gave you his opinion on this too."

"So now you and Marshall are ganging up on your sister?" Jinx's voice intruded into the sister's conversation.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and Brandi rolled her eyes. The girls tried to placate their mother, but the older woman was thoroughly under the influence and would not relent in her accusations of Mary abandoning Brandi. Emotions began to boil over, and within twenty minutes Brandi was crying and Mary was unraveling.

"So you're just going to turn your back? Walk away from her when she needs you? When we need you?" Jinx yelled at her oldest daughter. "You're just like your father!"

The gauntlet was thrown, and the women traded barbs and insults with intent to hurt. Jinx was quite proficient at cutting her daughters off at the knees, stoking their tears and putting them on the defensive. All three were on their feet as they fought, unmindful of the neighbor's ears or each other's feelings. Jinx claimed there was no love from a long lost father and Mary barely managed to refrain from slapping her. Stalking inside with her mother and sister on her heels, Mary headed right to the closet and brought out the next round of ammunition.

"What's this?" asked Jinx as Mary poured the letters on the table.

"Letters. From Daddy. He's sent them to me as I've grown, still sends them now. You may not have earned his love, but he still holds some for me."

Her mother snatched one from the table and began to read as Mary watched her. The mood in the room shifted from anger to sadness as Jinx began to sob with her hand over her mouth.

"Why? Why you? Why not send them to all of us?" she asked, looking at Mary with tears on her face.

Mary's own tears joined those of her family as she offered them the lies and excuses she had come to believe over the years. Tried to explain her father's actions as they all read through the letters. The day turned to night as the women ultimately huddled together on the couch in exhaustion. There were no more words to say for this day, each lost in their own thoughts as they continued to slowly review the written words that caused them such pain. Mary's soul was weary, her body ached and she had a migraine. Her phone called to her from across the room and she slowly disentangled herself from her sibling in order to lurch to retrieve it. Marshall.

"Are you in Amarillo, or did the alien abduction option pan out?" she answered.

"Enjoying the hospitality of a lovely Super 8 in beautiful, downtown Amarillo," he replied with a half hearted chuckle. "The aliens wouldn't take him. Said he was too weird."

Mary felt a stab of disappointment. She had been hoping her partner would be back in town within a few hours. She must've taken a moment too long to reply.

"Hmm, no snappy comeback to that. What's going on?" Marshall was concerned.

"Just tired. I've been in the house all day with the dynamic duo and my mother's been in rare form."

"You sound like you've been crying. That doesn't instill confidence, Mare." He noted her hoarse voice and sniffles; could visualize the blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes. She was a mess when she cried.

"It's the usual family shit, Marshall. Just upped a notch by everything that's happened lately. And, you may have noticed, I'm a bit on the emotional edge right now. Not hard to get me going." Mary was glad for the conversation. Felt herself begin to detach from the strong feelings of her mother and sister as her partner's voice tilted her back towards normal.

He didn't say anything right away so she jumped in with a question to divert him. "So, what's your plan for tomorrow? Do you have to process Mr. Spock with Amarillo or can you drop him and run?"

Marshall followed her lead and told her the detailed plans for the next day. The only part Mary really heard was his ETA back in Albuquerque.

"You're thinking we'll be graced by your ugly mug around seven tomorrow night? she asked hopefully.

"Wow, you sound like you're actually looking forward to seeing me," he drawled.

"The women in my family shouldn't really be allowed near a stove. I'm going to want you to bring me dinner."

Marshall laughed, "Should I order lunch ahead of time and have someone drop that off too?"

Mary thought back to an earlier conversation from the day. "No, lunch is already planned and I'm letting Raph pick up the tab."

Silence on the other end of the phone.

"Hello? Marshall? Can you hear me?" Mary stared at the phone thinking she had been disconnected.

"You're meeting him for lunch tomorrow?" Marshall clarified for his own mind.

"Yeah, he's off this week so he'll have time to sit and eat."

Marshall sighed, "Mary, can you wait a day or two for this? I'd like to be in town."

"Why? You're not planning on coming with me, are you? Because that's not going to happen." Mary was slightly confused.

"I just want to be available…in case you need me."

"Relax, it'll be fine. I'll save all the juicy details to regale you with when you get back." She tried to keep her voice light and casual.

Marshall realized he was being a bit ridiculous. The man was not going to jump her bones in public, and Mary needed to begin the resolution of this problem called Raphael Ramirez. Hearing his witness bellow for him from the other room, Marshall snarled in the direction of the adjoining door.

"I'm being summoned. I'll have to let you go," he ground out. "You'll get some rest, right?"

"I have my orders, remember? Trying to avoid a lecture here." Mary teased. "You'll be careful driving home, right?"

"I'll try not to piss off the highway patrol. They scare me," he whined, and she chuckled.

"Goodnight, idiot."

He laughed and hung up and Mary stood staring at the phone for about five minutes until she shook herself free of the reverie and headed to the shower. An early bedtime sounded like the best medicine for what had been a fairly crappy day.

* * *

***** Wow, so glad her mom and sister tried to make her homecoming so delightful! You just know she's not going to sleep well now! And meeting Raph without Marshall as back up, what do you think? good idea? Guess we'll find out :) Please keep those amazing REVIEWS coming! *****


	24. Deliberating

***** Mary's making decisions without Marshall's input again...or despite his input. You know how that turns out! *****

***** thank you for your patience...your reviews and your continued support!! *****

* * *

_"**The smile on your face lets me know that you need me, there's a truth in your heart that says you'll never leave me, and the ****touch**** of your hand says you'll catch me whenever I fall.****"**_

_"**It's not so much that we're ****afraid**** of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.****" **_

_– _

**Marilyn Ferguson**

* * *

Mary thought about calling off her lunch date with Raph more than once that morning. Between the soul sucking events with her mother and sister the day before and the shuttle service of nightmares that finally dropped her off into permanent wakefulness at five this morning, she was tired and irritable and unsure of how civil she could be to Raph. A man she had never worried too much about being civil to before, as niceties and witty repartee were not the usual focus of their time together.

Maybe Marshall was right; delay this meeting for a few more days. Not that she thought she needed her partner in town for some psychological back up, but because she wasn't sure she was prepared for any physical challenges that may come her way. Mary had no doubt she could ward off advances by Raph, the man had never been physically aggressive and catered to her wants in the bedroom, but she knew there was a chance that an attempt to touch would spark overzealous defensiveness on her part. It would be distressing for both of them.

As she stood in front of her bathroom mirror brushing her teeth, Mary weighed the decision while she took note of her remaining visible injuries. The bruises were fading to yellow and green, the scratches faint lines and the few scrapes and cuts she could see had scabbed over. Wounds and sutures she couldn't see now itched. Uncomfortable and tricky to attend to, but at least the pain was dull and occasional at best; signs of physical healing. She no longer felt like she had been hit by an especially sadistic freight train, and she took heart in the feeling of strength that had returned.

Soon she'd be back to pushing herself to physical limits with exercise and work, the sore muscles and adrenaline rushes particularly satisfying; proving she was still young and able. Mary had always healed quickly, never coddling herself beyond what was medically necessary to fix an insult. Even pushing beyond that most times. She was used to her body performing to her will. Have to leap over that fence to catch a suspect? Muscles engaged and she landed on the other side without measuring height or distance. Wrestle a cagey witness to the ground? Agility and force were used to plant a knee in their back without a thought to the size disadvantage. No hesitation; the mind wanted it and the body obeyed.

Sometimes it didn't work out so well, and Mary grinned at herself in the mirror as she remembered one of the few times she probably should've thought twice before action. Marshall had glared and threatened to tattoo the words 'I cannot fly' on her forehead as he cuffed her suspect while she rolled and cursed her broken ankle. In retrospect, leaping off the roof in a surprise attack may not have been the best tactic.

Humor faded as Mary considered the state she now found herself in. Body healing, but mind still sniveling in the corner; bruises fresh and tender and wary of approach. Skittish and fearful of contact. Any outright overture of sexual contact was an obvious no-no, and Mary knew she wouldn't be able to tolerate that. No surprise there. But it was the small, everyday touches and the gestures of affection from those close to her that made her wary. Unable to make the distinction between the pain and fear of assault over the benign offer of a steadying hand or stroke of affection, the mind instructed the body to flee and cower unexpectedly. Random and overpowering, the response was unwanted, and Mary wished her mind and body were not so efficiently wired. Wished for some temporary disconnect between thought and action until she got her wits about her.

She couldn't seem to put her finger on what triggered that frisson of panic, or when it would occur. Stan and Dershowitz touched her numerous times during their meeting a few days prior. She hadn't thought about it twice until Stan brushed up against her as he squeezed through the small space between body and wall. Gripping the edges of the table, white knuckled and trying to remain inconspicuous in her distress, Mary was lost to the activities in the room for a few minutes until the fear subsided. She was glad when no one had noticed. Saved from embarassment and pity.

Mary headed back into the bedroom in order to dress. She grabbed a shirt out of the duffel she had brought back from Marshall's and pulled it over her head. Suddenly and unexpectedly enveloped by the scent of her partner, Mary sat on the bed and hugged herself with a sense of loss. She missed him. Missed knowing he was one step behind her, missed waking in the middle of the night to find his leg tangled in hers, missed his touch. The only touch she found safe at the moment. Maybe it was because Marshall was the first one to hold her in that basement at the end of the nightmare, the man that her psyche connected to rescue and comfort. Or maybe it was because her mind accepted him as a part of herself, not rejecting something that belonged there.

"Okay, this needs to stop," she announced to herself as she grabbed her pants.

She could not ride her partner's coattails through this whole mess. He was already worn down, and she refused to contribute to that state by clinging to him like a toddler at a clown convention. Dependency was a dirty word in her vocabulary; associated with drunken rants, drug induced blows and visits to the local lock-up. He had nursed her through the worst of it, she was sure, and now it was time to give him his life back. She would not become a burden, nor would she jeopardize their partnership by altering their roles.

That kiss she gave him yesterday was still giving her fits. Not only did she worry it had made him uncomfortable, but she had liked the feel of his lips against hers. Mary grunted in frustration and she ripped her mind away from that thought yet again. Despite the fact that they had teased and flirted throughout their six years together, as any couple in their position would do, she had never thought beyond the banter or the curious. There had to be a connection between her trauma and the odd and disconcerting feelings she was having. Melanie was going to get an earful in a couple of days. Mary fully expected the shrink to convince her that this would go away and all would go back to normal. It had to.

Lunch was back to being a good idea. Normal. Move forward instead of spinning her wheels in the realm of psychological drama. Sit, talk and try to reconnect with a part of her life that was familiar to her. Reestablish a relationship that satisfied a part of her that she knew she'd want back someday. So long as someone would still want her.

Shaking her head with a sigh of frustration and self recrimination at that last thought, Mary headed out to the kitchen to scrounge up some breakfast.

* * *

Marshall was pretty sure snails mated at a faster pace than Amarillo WITSEC processed a witness. In fact, he knew that the garden variety snail mating dance could last up to six hours until one or the other fired a small dart from their sinus cavities which then prompted their partner to get on with it. Marshall wondered if a bullet would speed up the agonizingly slow process occurring across the conference table.

Robert was being especially difficult, insisting upon gloves to touch his new MOU and double filtered water to drink. Marshall had tried to take his leave twice, but the witness' refusal to continue with the induction without his presence had stayed his hand. Stuck. He was pretty sure Hanley and Ogden, the two marshals taking charge, thought this was a huge joke. They kept looking at Marshall as thought he would suddenly jump up and yell 'punked!'; instead appearing crestfallen by his shrug of apology.

Finally, after four hours of wanting to gouge his eyes out, Marshall was given his leave as Robert announced his willingness to sacrifice his body to the tender ministrations of his new marshals.

It was now three in the afternoon and he was looking at a five hour drive back to Albuquerque, four if he didn't stop for dinner and pushed the speed limit. She had told him to drive safely, but he was wont to toss caution to the wind in order to get back to where he could look out for her. It didn't help that his text this morning was answered by a return greeting followed with her lunch timeline. He wasn't sure if she was just announcing the events of the day or letting him know when he should be aware of potential angst. Not that he'd be able to do anything about it from three hundred miles away. She had missed his call midmorning, and by the time she returned it he was stuck in negotiations and unable to answer. Frustrating.

He was on the phone before he reached the SUV in the lot. Mary should be back home from lunch by now, he hoped, and he wanted to let her know he was hitting the road. She'd calculate his arrival time and hold him to it, always giving him grief if he showed up later than expected. He returned the favor when she was on the road. Loosely camouflaged as a contest as to who could navigate the roadways with more speed and efficiency, the check-in served to soothe the nerves of the person left behind. A way to express care and concern when proximity didn't allow for a punch or rude gesture. The more angry she was with his ultimate arrival time the more worried she had been.

She answered on the third ring. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. I've been released from hell and am going to be on the road in about ten minutes. Wanted to give you a heads up."

"Did it turn into a hostile takeover?" she asked. Marshall thought she sounded tired.

"Negotiations produced a bloodless regime change. How was lunch?" he couldn't stuff his curiosity any longer.

There was a long pause and his gut knotted. "Fine," she finally answered, without elaboration.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. It was fine. He was fine. I was fine. Just fucking fine," she growled towards the end.

Three and a half hours if he badged the state trooper. "Mary, what happened?"

"I expect to see you by eight. Bring beer and something fattening," Mary demanded. She said goodbye and hung up.

Marshall hoped he wasn't going to have to kill someone in their sleep.

* * *

***** Obviously, lunch wasn't "fine". Let's see how fast Marshall can get back to ABQ...somehow, I don't think the state troopers really scare him. :) Thought I'd give you an early post treat! Please let me know what you think, and stay tuned to see what "fine" really means! REVIEWS!! *****


	25. Tattling

***** Lunch...right. Mary really should learn from those times she's jumped in with both feet and it turned out terrible! Jinx is still a piece of work. Marshall, of course, is Marshall :) *****

* * *

"_**The desire of the man is for the woman, but the desire of the woman is for the desire of the man.**__**"**_

– _**Madame de Stael**_

_**Every **__**normal**__** man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats**__**" **_

– _**Henry Louis Mencken**_

* * *

"Mary!" Raph exclaimed when she opened the door at his arrival. "You look great. So much better than the other day."

Mary was glad to see him, but couldn't help the sudden surge of butterflies in her stomach as he stepped in to embrace her. _"It's just Raph. It's just Raph…" _she repeated to herself as she returned his hug briefly before pulling away with a nervous smile.

"You look good too," she returned. "Uh, I've got to grab a few things so go ahead and hang out for a minute."

"Are we really going out for lunch?" Raph asked as he closed the door behind him and watched her walk down the hall. "I don't think you have ever asked me to go out to lunch before."

Mary dug a sweater out of a drawer in her room as she answered, careful to keep her tone light and casual, "Well, we're both usually running around and too busy to stop, but since you're off this week and I'm forced to be off, I thought we might try it."

She turned around to find him in the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe with a seductive smile on his face. She knew that look, usually heated up to boiling pretty damn quickly with that look. Today, it caused her stomach to flip and she started to plan. Didn't want him to get suspicious, yet there was no way she was going to fall into bed with the man. Maybe just a little making out would satisfy him and then she could feign inability to do more due to injury. That sounded like it would work.

"So," he said in a low voice as he tugged her over to him, "is anyone else home?"

"_Oh, Jesus, this is bad,"_ Mary thought as she fought every screaming instinct to bolt. Willing herself to relax, she allowed Raph to pull her against him and settle his hands on her hips. He kissed her and she focused on returning it, but couldn't concentrate for long.

"They'll be back any minute. Just ran to the store. Yet another reason to make ourselves scarce," Mary stated, attempting to pull away.

"I know a way that only takes a few minutes," he whispered in her ear. "You taught it to me, remember?"

His hands ran up her sides to her breasts and she sucked in a breath and grabbed his wrists, her protest cut short by his mouth on hers again. Mary moved his hands back to her waist and turned her head, whispering, "Wait, wait a minute."

"We only have a few, and you hate waiting," he murmured. Raphael wrapped his arms around her more tightly, rubbing his hips against hers to let her know what he was thinking about and began kissing her neck, one of his hands tangling in her hair to tilt her head back. The things he knew Mary liked.

The feel of his arousal was disturbing enough, but the hand wrapped in her hair is what increased Mary's respirations to shallow pants and had her pushing at his chest to regain her freedom. Her thin veneer of control was slipping, her heart was pounding and she was pretty sure she was going to be sick if he didn't let go of her fairly quickly. There was no way she could separate past from present at this rate, no matter how hard her rational mind shouted.

Raph noticed her struggle and let her go with a questioning look, "Mary, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

Mary rubbed her face with her hands and cleared her throat, now standing across the doorway from him. "No…well, a little. I cracked a few ribs when I was kidnapped and they're still pretty tender. You hit a sore spot." Her legs were trembling and she needed a minute to regroup.

"_Keep it together, Shannon,"_ she chanted in her head, visions of the basement flashing in front of her eyes. She had been in close proximity with the man for ten minutes and she was already falling apart. There was no way she'd make it through lunch.

"You know, Raph, I guess I didn't realize how worn out I still am. What do you say we just have a beer out by the pool? Go ahead and grab a couple and I'll meet you out there in a minute." Mary offered, desperate to move the man out of her room.

He looked confused and disappointed. "Oh. Okay, I suppose that is better than me going home. I'll wait for you out there." As he exited the hallway towards the kitchen, Mary retreated to the bathroom.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…" she hissed as she looked at her reflection. She didn't know she was going to react like that to her lover. To a stranger, or someone she wasn't comfortable with, sure. But to a man who had access to her body for quite a while now? Whom she trusted enough to sleep with? She had expected some nervousness, maybe even a moment or two of fear, but not the all encompassing terror that had nearly made her run.

"This is fucking crazy!" she exclaimed to no one but the tile. She was not going to live her life like this. Splashing water on her face, Mary took a few deep breaths and squared her shoulders. Ready for round two.

* * *

Raph sat in one of the chairs under the trellis with two beers on the table in front of him. He watched Mary make her way across the yard and smiled at her as she sat next to him.

"You never told me all of what happened with Brandi and the kidnapping," Raph began, trying to make conversation. "Do I need to worry about the FBI?"

Mary took a drink and tried to shift mental gears. Another minefield. "No, they've pretty much packed up and moved on. Brandi's going to have to deal with the local PD, and you remain completely out of the picture."

"I don't know how to thank you for that, Mary."

"By not talking about it," she quipped with a tilt of her bottle in his direction, eyes serious.

He raised his eyebrows and nodded, hint taken. "When do you have to go back to work?"

"Hopefully I get to go back soon. I'm going kind of nuts sitting around, and I'm sure I'm driving Marshall crazy with all my whining."

"Don't you have to get some medical permission or something? You said you had some cracked ribs, and I can still see bruises," Raph asked, looking concerned. "You don't look completely yourself yet."

"Yes, I have to get clearance. No, I'm not myself yet. Let's talk about something else," Mary said.

Raph looked at her hard for a minute or two. "Are you sure you are all right? I just feel like there's something going on that you're not telling me about. Other than all the things you never tell me about anyway."

Mary pointed a finger at him, "Don't start. I've been busy with this case, busy recovering and it's just tiring."

"Why doesn't Marshall help you with the case? Can't he take care of it?" Raph asked, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice.

"Marshall's been buried up to his neck with this case the same as I," Mary snapped. "Don't drag him into this discussion."

"She stayed with Marshall for nearly a week after she was kidnapped," Jinx's voice intruded on their conversation. "They've been working very closely on Brandi's case."

Mary's head whipped around to glare at her mother, "Jesus, Mom, are you hiding in the bushes and spying on me? When the hell did you get home?"

"Just now. I saw Raph's car and came out here to say hello. Can't I greet a visitor?" Jinx had been drinking, somewhere, and Mary was nervous.

"Fine. Say hi and then go inside," Mary instructed.

"You stayed with Marshall for a week?" Raph asked Mary, now looking at her with hurt on his face. "Why?"

Jinx opened her mouth and Mary jumped up to face her, wincing. "Mom, go inside. This isn't your business." Then turning to face Raph, "I had a rough time with the kidnapping. I just needed some extra support from someone who knew what I went through. Leave it alone."

"A 'rough time'? Is that what you're calling it now?" Jinx sing-songed.

Mary grabbed her mother's arms and leaned in close to hiss, "Shut. Up. I will not tolerate this today. Go inside."

"He doesn't know?" Jinx stage whispered, too loud in the small space.

"Know what?" Raph asked, leaning over to try to see Mary's face.

"Nothing, Raph. She's drunk and confused," Mary placated her boyfriend with a smile before turning back to her mother. "I've already told Raph about the kidnapping and Brandi's problems. Nothing more to say for now."

"Mary, what's going on?" Raph was standing now also and walked over towards the two women. "What aren't you telling me? I knew there was something odd about how you are acting."

"Mary, he should know. He's your boyfriend, you have to sleep with him," Jinx protested.

"Did you sleep with Marshall?" Raph asked suddenly, shock on his face.

"What? No!" Mary spun to face him, incredulous. "Why would you think that?"

"You're being very secretive, and then your mother tells me you stayed with him, and now you are trying to shut her up before she tells me something you obviously don't want me to hear," Raph trailed off with a shrug, anger on his face.

"I did not sleep with Marshall. Get that out of your head," Mary commanded, angry herself now.

"She was raped by those men who kidnapped her," Jinx announced loudly with her chin thrust in the air.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut in fury, then turned to her mother with clenched fists, "Jesus Christ, Mom! Can't you keep your goddamn mouth shut?!" She had never before felt such a desire to do violence to her mother.

Jinx sensed her daughter's anger even through the fog of alcohol. Stepping back, she placed a hand on her chest and stammered an apology, "I'm sorry, Mary! I…I just thought maybe you had a hard time saying anything."

"What?" whispered Raph, face displaying shock at the words. "Mary, is that true?"

Mary stood between the two other people on the pool deck, fuming in silence while she considered her options. There was no point in denying the statement that her extreme reaction had already shown to be true, yet she didn't want to say the words or talk about it with Raphael. All control of the situation had been stripped from her hands and she was horrified to feel tears prick her eyelids. Cursing under her breath, she spun on her heel and stomped towards the house without a word to either of them.

"Mary!", "Querida!" Jinx and Raph exclaimed as Mary headed for the back door.

She heard one of them coming after her and doubled her efforts to get inside, ignoring her body's protest. Barreling through the back door, she had cleared the kitchen when Raph caught her arm.

"Don't touch me," she barked, yanking her arm away and stepping back to create space between them.

"Mary, I'm not going to hurt you," Raph insisted, stopping where he was. "I just need to know if this really happened."

She crossed her arms over her chest and blew out a breath. The tears were close. "Yes. It really happened." He would get no elaboration from her.

Raph just stared at her for a moment, as if the words didn't translate. "Why didn't you tell me? You were not going to tell me, were you?"

"No, I wasn't," she snapped, on the defensive now and lying quickly. "I can't talk about most of it anyway because of the job. No reason to upset you with that and not be able to explain."

"Did you tell Marshall?"

"Marshall knows. He pulled me out of that…he got me out." Mary checked herself.

"This is terrible! I don't understand why you would not tell me this! I have a right to know, don't you think?"

He had chosen the wrong word in Mary's mind. "A right? What makes you think you have a right to know this? You don't have any rights to me," her voice was low and full of anger.

"I need to know why you would push me away when I thought I was doing what you like. I want to know if I can touch you or not touch you. I just want to help. I want to comfort you and keep you safe."

"I didn't want you knowing because I don't need you to keep me safe or comfort me," she nearly yelled. "I don't need pity or coddling or any of those other things I know you'll offer. Now you'll treat me with kid gloves and I don't want that. I want what we had." Mary was becoming more and more upset by the whole situation.

Raph laughed humorlessly, "What we had? Sex…a lot of sex? How are you going to do that now? Grit your teeth through it? Am I supposed to be comfortable with that? I can't do that with you now."

"Why?" Mary's eyes brimmed with tears, "Because I've been used? You don't want to touch me now that you know what happened?"

Raphael's expression became pained and he reached out to gently grasp her elbows, keeping his voice low and steady, "That's not it. I can't hurt you or scare you. I don't want you to flinch and struggle. Why can't you let me just love you and be there for you?"

"_Because I have that already,"_ her brain responded silently. Mary dropped her eyes to the floor with the thought, confused.

Raph pulled her to him for an embrace and Mary stiffened and pushed back, nerves shot at this point. "I think you should really just go."

"Mary, we need to talk about this," he pleaded. She shook her head.

"No, Raph. Just leave. I need you to leave."

He reached out to touch her cheek and she flinched away, sorry to cause the look of sadness on his face but unable to control her reaction. Turning slowly, the man walked to the door before looking back at her.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," he said with true conviction, then left.

She was shaking so badly that she just allowed herself to sink to the floor; anger and anxiety reducing her to leaning against the wall and hugging her knees to her chest. Mary carefully measured her breaths, determined not to cry and fall apart. The back door slammed as her mother came looking for her.

"Mary," Jinx began as she found her daughter on the floor. "Are you all right?"

"Get away from me," Mary growled, refusing to look at the woman. "You had no right to tell him. None. That was my decision and mine only."

"I was only trying to help," Jinx whined, offended by Mary's accusation.

"You don't know how to help," Mary said hoarsely, distressed as a tear escaped and ran down her face. "You only know how to make the wound a little deeper, make it bleed a little faster. Just go away."

Burying her face her knees to hide her tears, Mary heard her mother's footsteps recede and proceeded to sob.

* * *

He made Albuquerque city limits by 6:50 pm, was out of the bar and grill by 7:10 and pulled into the driveway of Mary's house by 7:20. The house was still standing, and he didn't hear any dissonance from within, so Marshall's anxiety level receded minutely as he knocked on the door. It was opened shortly thereafter by Jinx.

"Oh. Marshall," she answered unenthusiastically as she let him in. "I thought it might be Raphael."

Radar pinging, Marshall asked the obvious, "Where you expecting Raphael?"

"I was hoping Mary would call him and apologize. That they might talk." She waved her hand in the air as she retreated back to the couch.

"Why would Mary apologize to Raph? Did they fight?" Probing. This didn't sound good.

"She was keeping secrets from him. He found out and they had a fight. She kicked him out." Jinx was only happy to share the gossip.

Marshall's eyebrows rose as he began to lay the food he bought out on the counter. "Sounds serious. Where is she now?" It was odd that she hadn't come out to greet him yet.

Jinx snorted, "How would I know? She's not speaking to me. I didn't win mother of the year award today."

"_Did you ever?"_ he wondered, with a sideways glare at the woman on the couch. "What did you do?" he asked.

Jinx flounced around on the couch to look at him. "Did you know that she wasn't going to tell Raphael about the rape? Can you believe that? That poor man would never have known."

"_Oh, shit,"_ Marshall thought, closing his eyes with a sigh. Sure, Raph 'found out' about the rape. The source of that information currently painting her nails yet another shade of red. There was no way this wasn't going to be a mess.

"You mind if I go and look for her?" he asked, more as a formality than permission as he was already headed to Mary's room. Jinx waved distractedly from the couch.

Mary's room was empty, so Marshall walked back the other way and checked the laundry room and the garage. No Mary. Slightly concerned now, he stepped out into the back yard and spotted her. She was cleaning the pool. Scrub brush attached to the long metal pole, Mary was meticulously scrubbing away any hint of algae along the sides and bottom. Cleaning meant aggravation.

"Give the pool boy the week off?" Marshall casually asked.

Mary froze and her eyes snapped up to meet his. He couldn't see her well in the fading light, but her posture was tense.

She couldn't describe the feeling of relief that swept through her with her partner's presence. Similar to the time she saw him come down those steps, but without all the distraction of fear, pain and exhaustion. Mary had to grip the pole tightly to keep from running around the pool to go meet him.

"You're early. Did you offer to disable the porn filter on the trooper's on-board computer again?"

"I found a shortcut," he countered.

"Liar," she drawled, one hand on her hip now. "I've driven that route too many times. There are no shortcuts."

They stood and stared at each other for a moment until Marshall waved a beer at her. "Hungry? This goes with burgers inside…from Bennys."

"Well, why didn't you say so, nitwit," Mary huffed, pulling the pole out of the water and dropping it on the deck. "No more chit chat…eating."

He waited for her to reach him and handed her the beer. Mary took it, bumped him with her shoulder and headed up the steps. Marshall smiled behind her, that bump conveying affection and gratitude. Both for the beer and for just being there. She was happy to see him.

Mary asked why there were four containers; she didn't expect him to feed her whole family. He told her it saved him from watching her give hers away when her mother and sister came sniffing for handouts. This way, she could eat as much as she wanted. As if the universe broadcast his thoughts, Brandi and Jinx wandered into the kitchen to see what smelled good. Marshall smirked at Mary and raised his bottle in a toast. She kicked him under the table.

Brandi chatted aimlessly through the meal, seemingly oblivious to the tension between Mary and her mother. Jinx asked Marshall and Brandi a few questions, pointedly ignoring Mary. Marshall felt like he was in the middle of a soap opera, wondering who would drop dead from a brain tumor in the next ten minutes. He let his mind wander on the topic, trying to remember which show had won awards this year, then snapped back to the present with a question from Brandi.

"Oh, Mary, I forgot to ask you how your lunch with Raph went."

"Fine. We didn't actually go out. Just had a beer by the pool." Mary tried to avoid the subject.

Brandi looked confused, then gave her sister a sly look. "So, he just came over? Wow."

Mary stared at her sister across the table for a moment before answering, "Nothing happened, Squish. Jesus."

Marshall watched Mary and noticed the nervous swallow and the slight tremble in her hands as she took a drink of water. Something most certainly did happen.

"Oh, no…I wasn't thinking that. Of course not," Brandi backpedaled with Mary's annoyed tone.

"They had a fight," Jinx whispered loudly to Brandi.

Mary stood so quickly her chair fell over, and everyone at the table jumped. She was glaring at Jinx, cheeks flushed with anger and slapped her hand down on the table in front of her startled mother. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Mary ground out.

"Mary," Marshall said softly, rising to stand next to his partner. She radiated fury. "Let's go outside." He gently laid a hand on her forearm, "Come on. Come with me."

His touch grounded her and Mary closed her eyes to take a deep breath. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she turned towards him and permitted him to lead her out the front door. Blindly following, Mary finally looked at him after they stopped by the bumper of the SUV.

"I can't seem to stop being angry, Marshall," she began, running her fingers through her hair. "It's like I have a hair trigger, more twitchy than usual, and everything sets it off. It's exhausting."

"Angry is normal right now, Mare. And you're not exactly in a stress free environment."

Marshall relaxed slightly as Mary calmed down. He was seriously concerned she was going to strike her mother for a moment there. She rubbed her face and arms and sighed as she hung her head to stare at the ground.

"Did you sleep last night?" Marshall asked, guessing at the answer.

Mary shook her head slightly, "Not really. I had a rough day and just couldn't relax."

"Sounds like you had another rough one today," he prompted.

"Nothing went the way it was supposed to. I didn't even get to eat lunch," Mary tried to make a weak joke, but couldn't muster up a smile.

He waited a minute, leaning against the bumper and watching her. "So, are you going to tell me what happened with Raph, or do I have to start playing twenty questions?" he finally asked after she kept her silence.

"I didn't know it was going to be so bad," she murmured, leaning on the car next to him and playing with the tie on her sweatpants.

Marshall swallowed, her statement making him nervous, "What did he do?"

She huffed in exasperation, "Nothing he wouldn't normally do, but I couldn't…I thought I would be able to let him touch me and…I didn't expect…" she trailed off, not even able to finish a sentence.

Seeing and hearing her distress, Marshall slowly put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer to him. She came willingly, sighing in relief with the gesture.

"The minute he walked in the door I was nervous. That's crazy, Marshall. I thought I'd be able to handle some low key stuff, you know, but it seemed like anywhere he put his hands triggered a memory. And then he had my hair and I just lost it. Had to send him out to the pool so I could keep from flipping out." Mary cursed under her breath before continuing.

"Then my mother. Jesus, she's a piece of work. Drunk. Stupid. Comes outside and blurts out the sordid details. I just about ripped her apart. Raph corners me back inside and wants to talk about it, of course. I'm barely holding it together, trying to be civil about the whole thing, and he wants to pet me and be all nice and crap. I don't want nice, Marshall, I want normal. I want to go to his apartment, fuck like rabbits and sleep like the dead." She was on a roll now, words coming fast and sentences run together. Marshall wrinkled his nose at her last statement, but remained silent as he suspected there was more.

"He said he wouldn't be able to do that now. Great. Doesn't want to touch me. Says it's because he doesn't want to hurt me. I don't know if I believe that."

"That seems like a valid reason, given the circumstances," Marshall offered quietly.

She snorted in dismissal, flippant in her reply, "Maybe. More likely that I'm damaged goods now."

Marshall reached around to turn her to face him, his brow furrowed. "No. Don't say that. That's not true."

She wanted to believe him, saw the truth in his eyes, but what she felt in her gut led her down another path. She fired questions at him without thinking first, "What if I can't let anyone touch me again? What happens to me then? Who's going to want that?"

Mary immediately shook her head in frustration, pulled out of his grasp and waved her hands in the air as she paced. "Forget it. Forget I said that. I'm just talking out of my ass now. I'm tired and mad and I'm rambling."

He knew she'd been thinking about that for a while. Thinking she was undesirable now. Not only wondering if she'd be able to return to accepting a man, but worried that none would accept her. It caused his stomach to burn in anger.

"Hey," he said, and she stopped to look at him. "Come here."

Mary stepped over to him with a quizzical look, "What?"

Marshall took her hands and tugged her closer, slowly crawling his hands up her arms until her forehead nearly touched his chin. "Are you scared right now?"

She looked up at him oddly, "No. Why would I be?"

Smiling slightly, Marshall slid his arms around her until she rested against his chest, her hands grasping his shirt at his waist. "Now?" he asked.

Mary chuckled dryly into his shirtfront, understanding the point of the exercise and conceding, "No, idiot. I get it. You're a man...you're touching me…and I'm not freaking out."

"Let me just add, then, that you are a very desirable woman, Mary Shannon. Any man who would think otherwise doesn't deserve you. Got it?" He breathed in the scent of her hair while he had the chance.

His statement caused warmth to suffuse through her body and Mary leaned into him a little more just to prolong the contact. She wanted to go back home with him. Back where she wasn't on edge every second.

"You need to get some rest," Marshall said, echoing her thoughts, rubbing her back reflexively.

"I will," she answered, unable to ask for more.

"Come back to my house?" he asked hopefully.

The offer hung in the air for a few minutes while they stood silently. Finally, Mary pulled back and looked up at him with a grin.

"I'm not sick, and I'm not a mess, so I don't think I qualify to be hauled back to your place and lectured." She reached up to push a lock of hair off his forehead, noting the look of disappointment on his face. "I need to stay here and acclimate to the real world."

Marshall stared at her for a long minute, then tilted his head forward to kiss her on the forehead.

"Be good," he whispered.

"Go home," she replied, gently pushing him towards the driver's side.

He watched her walk back to the front door, square her shoulders and disappear into the house.

* * *

***** Okay...who wanted her to go home with him?? Raise your hands!! Yeah...that damn, stubborn woman. At least she talked to him...probably said more than she wanted to but it had been building up for a bit. Wow, Raph really got blindsided...poor guy. And the next poll: who wants to draw and quarter Jinx?? Me me me! Stay tuned...more to do, more to do. Please REVIEW!! *****


	26. Rethinking

***** Time to shrink some heads...at least a little bit. And Mary thought it was going to be a good day. Silly rabbit. *****

* * *

_**The air becomes difficult to breath. The abyss yawns below them. Some fall. Others stop and retrace their steps; there is a sad weariness. The bold ones continue. They are eyed by the eagles; the lightning plays about them: the hurricane is furious. No matter, they persevere."**_

_**– Victor Hugo**_

* * *

"I'm worried about her. I know she won't take care of herself, and she won't call me if she needs someone. It's frustrating but I don't really have much recourse with Mary."

Marshall chuckled at his own comments, scratching his nose as he thought of an analogy. "It's like having a fish on a line. The more you try to reel her in, the more she struggles. If you aren't careful, she'll swallow the hook and then you've got a real mess on your hands. But if you're patient and let her run with the line, she'll eventually let you catch her."

He sat back into the couch cushions in Melanie's office, comfortable with the therapist's office and the session itself. Marshall found counseling therapeutic, and sometimes, if he was feeling peevish or contrary, he'd see if he could mess with their minds. Try to elicit a desired expression or phrase. Today, though, he really just wanted to figure out what to do with Mary.

"How long has she been home?" asked Melanie, sitting across from him.

"Four days now. Four nights."

"The nights are what you're worried about the most?"

Marshall nodded, squinting with thought. "It's the nightmares. She was having them every night, even when tucked in with me. Sometimes they'd wake her and she'd have to get up for a bit to calm down, but other times I would be able to get her back to sleep before she'd wake completely. She's got no one to do that for her now."

"Are you sleeping?" Melanie asked, trying to switch Marshall's focus onto himself.

"Pretty much, but I wake up thinking she needs me in the middle of the night. I don't know if it's dreams or…I don't know. I have this dream where she's lost and calling but I can't find her. Fairly obvious, but it's not pleasant." Marshall was trying to identify the prints on the wall by the bookcases. He didn't want to think about the dream.

"What's your greatest worry about yourself right now?"

He furrowed his brow at the question. He could think of a lot of things that concerned him about Mary, but his own mental health wasn't forefront in his mind.

"I worry I'm supposed to be doing more, but I don't know what that is. I wasn't there for her when they took her, when they hurt her. And now I worry I'm just going to continue to fail her. I'm supposed to protect her." He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his composure.

"You're putting a lot of responsibility onto your shoulders. Mary's a grown woman. An adult. Surely she doesn't expect you to protect her from all the dangers of the world?" Melanie was playing devil's advocate.

Memories of a dusty gas station surfaced unbidden, and Marshall smiled. "That's my job. And I don't believe she's given me permission to quit."

There was some pact there, Melanie knew, some spoken or unspoken bond that went deeper than friendship. A sacred trust. This would be a little trickier than she thought.

* * *

"I'm worried about Marshall," Mary said, leg bouncing as she sat on the recliner in Melanie's office, gaze wandering. "I don't think he's sleeping well, and he keeps checking in on me even though I try to assure him I'm okay. It's frustrating, really, because he's like a dog with a bone. There's no convincing him to bury it and let it be."

"It's hard for you to let him take care of you," Melanie prompted, unable to catch Mary's eye.

"I can take care of myself. He needs a keeper half the time though. Would dry up on some epic search for trivial knowledge if I didn't drag him out into the real world once in a while," Mary chuckled.

"How long have you been on your own?"

Mary sobered and began to pick at her fingernails. "Since I was eight, I guess. My mom started to drink about that time. Had to pick up my own pieces since then."

"That makes it hard to be dependent on others," Melanie agreed. "Hard to let someone help you, even when you need it."

Mary studied her from under her lashes, tried to anticipate the direction of attack.

"Was it hard staying with Marshall for those first few days?" the counselor asked.

"No. In fact, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to stay anywhere else. He got me through the worst of it." Mary shrugged and went back to contemplating her hands.

"Do you think you're through the worst of it?"

Giving Melanie a look of disbelief, Mary grunted a laugh, "I sure the hell hope so! Torn up, sick and barely able to move would seem to be the brunt of the insult. Now it's just mental shit to work through."

"Where does Marshall fit into that?" Melanie asked.

"I'm trying to keep him out of it. It's confusing, and my feelings for people are all haywire. I need to keep everything separated."

"Feelings for what people? Your family? Marshall?"

Mary pursed her lips, now unsure of pursuing this topic. She needed some answers though. "Mainly Marshall. I think I got too attached to him those first few days. He was the only person I could trust…who I could even tolerate being near…and I let him just take over and fix things." Mary rubbed at her eye and shifted positions, uncomfortable. "He made me feel safe and cared for and it just kind of confused me a little. I wanted it to continue, started to wonder about more, and that's not right."

"You think these feelings are due to the trauma? That they'll go away once you've recovered?"

Mary shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't they? Once my head's on straight again I'm sure I won't want to curl up with my partner every night."

Melanie studied the woman in the chair for a moment. She had seen a lot of denial in her time, and today it was a blonde named Mary.

"Mary, because of what you've experienced, I think you need to know that there will be times when Marshall is the only one you'll feel safe around. In fact, he's the one you'll need to call. Don't push him away right now, and definitely don't ignore your need for his comfort. This 'mental shit' that you want to work through? Your brain needs Marshall to do it, because there're still things it's not going to want to touch without him standing with you."

Mary felt relief and anxiety at the same time with the counselor's words. Relief that she could allow herself the comfort of her partner and friend; anxiety because it would be too easy get used to it.

"Let him care for you, at least for a little while longer. You're not ready to strike out on your own, and he needs to have that task in order to work through his own issues. You're helping him by letting him help you." Melanie tried to emphasize that latter part of her reasoning; knowing Mary would respond to Marshall's needs.

She watched Mary digest the information, checked the time and started to close the session. "Next time, we're gonna hit some hard stuff. Start working through the events and try some techniques that may help with the fear."

"Great." Mary groaned, rising to stretch and vacate the premises.

* * *

Mary woke with a giant sized kink in her neck, a gift from the torn couch cushion she had apparently fallen asleep on sometime in the night. Likely after the third nightmare when she decided to just get up and watch some TV. Sleep a lost art at that point. Rolling onto her back with a moan and stretching her neck, she wondered at the images and voices that kept her up at night.

Only a few had been violent, sending her crashing to the floor or desperately grabbing for the lamp. Those took hours to recover from just due to adrenaline overload, but were obvious in nature and relatively easy to understand. It was the vague and tenuous dreams that set her heart pounding with unseen terrors, imagined sounds and hints of scent. She would find herself checking the closet and under the bed like a six year old looking for bogeymen. The light stayed on after those dreams. Sometimes she cried herself back to sleep.

Mary figured she was clocking three to four hours of sleep a night, total. She was sure Marshall would disapprove, spouting some study on the value of continuous sleep versus interrupted sleep or something. Thus another reason not to tell him. He kept asking her if she was sleeping and she kept avoiding an answer. It would get better soon, she was sure. Just had to wait it out.

Rolling off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, Mary checked the time, surprised to see it was eight in the morning. That last stretch of sleep may have left bruises on her backside from the couch springs, but it was a good four hours. Finally, something positive.

Humming slightly as she brushed her teeth, Mary thought about what Melanie had said the day before. How Marshall needed her to let him take care of her. How was that supposed to look? Let him bring over lunch or dinner? Ask him to drive her into work so she could catch up with her paperwork? He'd been doing those things for the last five days. Hovering, actually. Maybe she was supposed to let him hover. She needed to start getting out more; mingling with the masses and such. Mary thought he'd want to do that with her, and in truth, she'd want him with her. A task. Perfect.

Having solved the apparent dilemma of the day before coffee, Mary headed out to the kitchen in a relatively positive mood. Caffeine could only improve the day's prospects.

Squish greeted her from the table, having risen a few minutes prior for class. Mary had managed to produce a truce between all the Shannon women after another soul wrenching tear fest a few days ago; Jinx finally contrite and Squish standing up for her sister. The peace of mind was worth the angst, and Mary no longer felt like she was walking on eggshells in her own home. Raph was another story, one that Mary didn't quite want to start reading yet. A different day.

"Are you going to work again today?" Brandi asked, chewing on a muffin.

"Beats sitting around here looking at insulation," Mary answered, pouring herself a cup of coffee Brandi had just made. "Marshall will be by to get me around nine."

"He's really taking good care of you, Mary. You're lucky." Brandi said after a minute or two of silence.

"That seems to be the theme these last few days," Mary drawled.

"I wish I could help more. I feel kind of useless, you know?"

Mary eyed her sister at the table. Felt as though she needed to toss her a bone. "You have helped, Squish. You helped me with Mom the other day, and you've done the shopping and a lot of the cleaning around here. I appreciate it."

Brandi smiled and Mary felt better. Her sister got up and walked over to her for a brief hug. "Thanks Mary."

Mary picked her mug back up and turned towards the bedroom. "I'm going to get ready. Don't eat all the muffins."

Her sister reached up and tugged on her ponytail with a parting comment, "I'll save you the chocolate chip ones."

It was as though her sister yanked her through a tunnel of light into a world of darkness. Mary recognized the sensation of suffocation and the vertigo from the time in Marshall's kitchen the week before and frantically tried to ward it off. The invisible band around her chest tightened and she couldn't catch her breath despite her efforts.

"Nonononono…" she gasped, the coffee cup slamming down on the counter and hot coffee splashing her leg and foot. Brandi jumped back, startled.

The pain jolted her back into reality for a moment, long enough to suck in a breath, grab the edge of the counter and whisper, "Call Marshall…now."

The continued sense of falling, combined with the imagined smell of cigarette smoke transported her back into that gray, ephemeral universe where terror reigned. Mary somehow knew she had to keep moving and clawed her way down the counter while her sister tried to help by grabbing her around the waist.

"Get off!" Mary croaked, throwing an elbow backwards and catching Brandi in the chest. The blow knocked the younger woman to the floor and she yelped with the landing.

"Mary! What's happening. Oh God…what's going on?" Brandi cried, tears forming as she watched her sister gasp for air and cling to the end of the counter. Remembering Mary's instruction, she scrambled to her feet and detoured around Mary to find the cell phone on the end table. Opening Mary's contacts, she hit Marshall's number.

She was being ripped apart, Mary thought. Part of her clinging desperately to the present while her traitorous mind continued its journey back to the basement. Voices, the feel of the wooden column against her cheek, hands in her hair. _"…I want you to scream this time…"_ The words caused her stomach to churn and she tried to yell; only managing yet another strangled gasp.

"_My house…my house…floor…counter…"_ Mary steered her thoughts to the sensations under her hands and feet. Now if she could just breathe. Dammit. Again her vision began to fade and she felt her knees wobble. She stumbled into the living room, Brandi's frantic words into the phone only giving her brain more fodder for the nightmare until she collapsed onto the floor.

As before, the impact with the hard surface jarred her senses enough to escape the grip of panic. Mary pressed her hands into her stomach, trying to coax her diaphragm into some sort of movement. She was rewarded by a breath slightly longer than the last; the next one deep enough to feel air move in her lungs. Finally able to choke out a sob, she became aware of her sister hovering just out of reach, in tears herself.

"It's okay," Mary whispered, nearly inaudibly. She slowly lay down on the cool floor, again reassuring Brandi as her cheek rested against the wood.

Brandi cautiously knelt next to her and Mary reached out to grab her hand, trying to somehow comfort the scared woman as her own stomach threatened to rebel with memories of abuse.

"Marshall's coming. He was already on his way to pick you up," Brandi murmured, unsure as to what to do. "What do you want me to do?"

Mary didn't want her partner to find her on the floor. It screamed weakness, and she didn't want to distress him.

"Help me get to the couch. My legs are shot," Mary croaked.

Brandi wrapped her arms around her sister and the two women attempted to struggle to their feet.

* * *

Marshall took the call from Mary's cell as he turned off his street, expecting a demand for fritters or other morning pastries.

"Fred's Fritters, we'll fry anything," he quipped into the phone.

"Marshall!" Brandi's angst filled voice blurted into his ear, "Something's really wrong with Mary! She's having some sort of attack or something…it's terrible! I don't know what to do!"

His foot pressed on the accelerator without conscious thought, heart racing in an instant. "Is she awake? Asleep? Tell me what happened?" he snapped.

Brandi filled him in as she hiccupped through sobs and Marshall knew Mary was having another panic attack, likely in conjunction with some sort of flashback. He told Brandi to just talk to her softly, keep her from hurting herself and he would be there in a minute.

A minute was too long.

* * *

***** Go Marshall, go! So, they're both worried about each other, Mary's told she's supposed to let Marshall care for her...what could possibly go awry? :) Thanks for all your wonderful comments and reviews!! I like to keep y'all happy!! (psst...keep REVIEWING!!) *****


	27. Shooing

***** Marshall tells someone to step off...and Mary still can't make a decision. A little sweetness at the end! *****

* * *

"_**Just because an animal is large, it doesn't mean he doesn't want kindness; however big Tigger seems to be, remember that he wants as much kindness as Roo." **_

– _**Winnie the Pooh**_

"_**A 'No' uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a 'Yes' merely uttered to please, or worse, to **__**avoid**__** trouble.**__**"**_

– _**Mahatma Ghandi**_

* * *

Marshall let himself into Mary's house at a trot, immediately spotting the duo on the floor just outside the kitchen. Brandi was trying to help Mary get to her feet, but the smaller woman couldn't support her sister's full weight with the awkward grip she had. He took a deep breath of relief as he strode over.

"Here, Brandi, let me have her. Move over," Marshall commanded, taking Brandi's place.

"No, Marshall, I can do it," Mary protested, face set in concentration as she tried to push him away. "I'm just shaky. Give me a minute…Hey!" she yelped as he picked her up.

Marshall ignored her protests, his own nerves shot, and scooped her up to take her over to the couch. She wiggled in his grasp, then huffed at him when he set her on the cushions.

"That was unnecessary, dumb ass, my legs aren't broken," Mary snapped, embarrassed.

Dizzy again, she wrapped her arms around herself and let her head fall back against the couch, sliding to the side until the desired horizontal position was reached. Marshall watched her with worried eyes.

"You weren't getting off that floor anytime soon, fool woman," he chastised. Reaching down, he lifted her legs onto the cushions so she'd be more comfortable. Mary hissed in a breath and he looked at her more closely.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

"Hot coffee," she replied curtly.

Marshall spotted the brown stain on her pant leg and snagged the hem to lift the material up to her knee. A small area of skin on her shin and the whole top of her foot were reddened with a little line of blisters near her ankle.

He grimaced, "Ouch. Brandi, can you get me a cold wash cloth?"

He studied the woman on the couch, all his protective instincts screaming at him to grab her and run. She was disheveled, tear stained, trembling and still trying to catch her breath. Her eyes were closed, but she looked anything but relaxed; Marshall could see the purple shadows under her eyes. He'd bet a million dollars she wasn't sleeping well…if at all.

Stepping over to meet Brandi halfway as she brought the cloth, Marshall asked quietly, "Is she sleeping okay? Can you tell?"

Brandi glanced nervously at her sister, making sure Mary didn't stir. Shaking her head, she replied just as softly, "No. She's up almost every night. I hear her out here watching TV or puttering around in the kitchen. One morning I found her asleep in the lounge chair by the pool. She doesn't get to nap during the day either. Mom makes it hard."

Marshall ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. Mary had convinced Stan to let her return to desk duty as soon as she had medical clearance. Her next doctor's appointment was in three days, and Marshall assumed she'd threaten the doc into signing off on her at that time just to earn her freedom. If she started going to work while still not sleeping…Marshall shook his head and pressed his lips together. Train wreck.

"What are you whispering about over there?" Mary muttered. Her voice sounded steadier, and Marshall returned to her with the cold cloth. Applying it gently to the burn, he commented on her injury.

"You'll have to pop those blisters," he said to Mary, "Want me to do it?"

"Hell no, Dr. Mengele, you sound a little too excited about that." Mary opened her eyes to glare at him. "You know I hate to get poked with sharp things. I'll do it myself in a little while."

Marshall sat next to her, Mary watching him as he settled himself so that they were in contact, his hand resting lightly on her hip.

"Bad one?" he asked, his own heart rate finally decelerating below light speed as she seemed to be alright, just shaken up.

Mary made a face at him with a sarcastic reply, "Could there be a good one?"

He looked a little sheepish and shrugged. "True." Staring at her a little longer, he smiled and hinted, "I think we may be looking at a little bit of a mess here."

"Marshall…" she began hesitantly, only to be cut off by Jinx's voice.

"What's going on out here? Marshall, what are you doing? Is this what goes on while I'm asleep?" the woman was standing in the hallway outside her room, looking indignant.

"Mom," Brandi cut in, "Mary had a really bad panic attack thing and Marshall came over to help. Stop it."

The woman's demeanor shifted on a dime, "Oh, my poor baby! Are you all right?"

Jinx trotted over and Marshall felt Mary tense. Holding out his arm, he stopped her mother's advance before she could get within touching distance. Giving the woman a look that usually sent grown men skittering away, Marshall gave instructions.

"Leave her alone. She needs some time to regroup that doesn't involve being manhandled or hassled. Go take a shower, take a walk, take a break, it doesn't matter, but stay out of this living room."

Jinx stared at him wide-eyed while Brandi busied herself doing some dishes. Mary bit her lips to keep from laughing at her mother's expression.

"You can't just tell me…" the woman began to protest.

"Shoo!" Marshall snapped, moving as if to stand. The action caused Jinx to retreat rapidly down the hallway, muttering under her breath.

"She'll be back, you know," Mary stated with a grin. "Just needs some liquid courage to take you on." Brandi snorted in the kitchen.

"Well, then," he said, rising. "I guess that's my cue to get going. I don't suspect round two would be pretty."

Mary scrambled up to a sitting position. "You're not going anywhere without me, Slick. Let me throw on some clothes and put a bandaid on my foot."

Marshall rested his hand on her shoulder, "Mare, you should stay, rest. You look tired."

Apparently, it wasn't the right thing to say because Mary's face darkened as she scowled at him, "I look tired because I'm stuck in this pit with that woman. Brandi's going to class and I'm going with you. Either drive me now or I'll show up about ten minutes after you park. It's up to you."

She pushed his arm away as she lurched to her feet, grabbed his jacket to steady herself, then attempted to stomp down the hall as she bounced off one wall. Marshall sighed and sat down to wait. Brandi tossed him a muffin.

* * *

"The therapist says we're going to start talking about it next time. Going through it." Mary stated flatly, staring out the window of the SUV as Marshall drove towards the office.

She hadn't spoken to him after emerging from her bedroom other than to hurry him out the door. For whatever reason, she had tucked herself back into silence and Marshall seriously questioned the wisdom of taking her to work. The new secretary would be there today, and he wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea to introduce Mary yet. He was lost in that thought when Mary's comment drew him back.

He looked at her stiff posture; hands wrapped around her elbows and knees pressed together, and knew she was thinking about the upcoming session with some anxiety.

"I'd ask if you were worried about that, but I can see you are. Do you want to put it off?"

"If I say yes, then I'm avoiding the big stuff, but if I say no I'm lying. Do you think I could just give her the files?" She didn't give him a chance to reply before shifting around to look at him.

"Here's the thing. Other than one night laying on your chest and the time I sat with the files, I've tried not to consciously think about it at all. Sure, a snippet or scene might flash in front of me once in a while, but I don't chase it. The dreams and the flashbacks are enough. I don't want to dig through it, Marshall. I truly can't say the words to describe a lot of it and I don't know what good it's going to do."

He felt for her; could hear her distress in the pitch of her voice. "There're a lot of reasons to take trauma victims through their experience, Mary. You have to rearrange the mess in your head so that it makes sense. So that the bad stuff doesn't affect the good stuff anymore. It's all a tangled mass of fear, pain, blame and anger right now. You have to sort it all out so you can function."

Marshall watched her think about that. Decided to take advantage of the rare moment of introspection. "There're some really good techniques out there. Some of them are especially effective for rape victims. Get you back in the game amazingly fast if you let them work, but you have to put the effort in."

"Which means I have to crawl through every fucking minute of that night, right?" Mary pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed her head back into the seat.

Thinking about talking about it made her feel slimy. There really wouldn't be enough hot water to wash off the layers of filth that would cover her after an hour of combing through the base humiliation she suffered. She shuddered.

He saw the reaction and reached over to take her hand, enveloping her fingers with his own. "You're not going to go through it alone, Mary."

She stared at his paler skin entwined with her tanned fingers. Remembered his head tucked under her chin and his arm wrapped around her waist; remembered his sobs.

"I'm not going drag you through this and subject you to emotional road rash, Marshall." she begged off.

Mary felt his fingers tighten around hers briefly, then he pulled her arm up and placed a kiss on her knuckles. She sucked in a quiet breath, oddly disconcerted by the gesture, but didn't pull away.

"A promise is a promise, and you're worth a scrape or two," he stated, letting their hands rest on the console between them again.

There was a little lump in her throat and Mary covered the emotional lapse with her usual tarp.

"God, that was sappy," she said with a chuckle.

He raised his chin and grinned in victory as she rolled her eyes.

* * *

***** I like when she confides in him without being asked. It's such a gesture of trust on her part. Marshall should "shoo" Jinx more often!! Hopefully you are still liking the story, as rough as it's been. Please keep sending the REVIEWS!! *****


	28. Deciding

***** Some progress, some decisions, some unexpected guests. Thanks again to roar for her unending willingness to be bombarded by my stuff :) *****

* * *

"_**The great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.**__**" **_

– _**Oliver Wendall Holmes**_

"_**The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.**__**" **_

_**-- Theodore Roosevelt**_

* * *

Mary's hand came down on top of his nearly completed property requisition, bumping his arm and forcing him to write outside the little box. Marshall grunted in annoyance.

"Take me lunch. I'm going stir crazy in here," she demanded. "My witnesses are all behaving, you're doing my extra paperwork and Ellen keeps watching me."

"Eleanor," he corrected. "And she's not watching you, you just insist on having your desk in her line of vision."

"I don't like her."

"You just met her."

"And your point would be?" Mary hinted, looking irritated now as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Marshall gave her a long suffering look, then made a point of meticulously correcting the error she had caused while she sighed and tapped her foot.

"Jesus, Marshall, it's not the damn SAT, you don't have to fill in the little circles. C'mon, I didn't have any breakfast and I'm hungry."

He didn't realize she hadn't eaten breakfast. Putting the form aside, he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair as he rose. "I bet you played dot-to-dot on your SATs," he teased, checking his wallet for cash.

"You would be wrong," she said smugly. "I bet I scored higher than you."

"_Careful here, buddy,"_ he mentally warned himself. If he scoffed, she'd think he thought she was stupid. He knew better.

"What are you offering?" he hedged as they walked towards the elevator.

"Winner gets to pick the movie we're watching tonight," Mary proposed with a grin tossed his way. "No argument."

Mary never let him pick the movie anymore, not after he tortured her with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy a few years ago. She was sick, and he thought he was entertaining her; totally caught up in the fascinating world of myth and legend while hunkered down on her couch all day. Little did he know she was too weak to escape to the bedroom. Now all theatrical offerings had to be approved before he was allowed access to the DVD player.

"Wait a minute," Marshall looked at her as a thought occurred to him, "I didn't know we were watching a movie tonight."

"You got a date?" Mary asked, hoping he didn't. They stood side by side in the elevator as it descended.

He looked over at her, sensing the answer to that question was important. "Yeah, I do. A real bossy chick with a potty mouth. She's kind of scary, but I just can't seem to resist her."

Mary backhanded him to the gut and he made a show of doubling over with a grunt. "Asshole. Just for that, I think I'll let you go home alone after all."

"Wait," he called, trotting after her as he rubbed his stomach. "Are you implying you were going to come home with me?"

Mary stopped suddenly right outside the doors to the building and Marshall pulled up short. Turning to look at him, she cast her eyes about for a moment before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Unsure.

"I had another panic attack this morning," she stated quietly, hands shoved in her pockets.

"When?"

"When I went down to the vending machines. I was able to get to the bathroom and wait it out, but it shook me up. Two in one day. Then Brandi called me a little while ago and is fighting with Mom. Don't know what about and I don't care." She let it sit there, glancing at him then staring at the ground again.

"Hmm. Hostile environment, lack of sleep, demanding family members…all factors that can promote nightmares and panic attacks in someone who ought to be allowed to recover. You should probably try to find a nice, quiet place to hunker down for a few days." Marshall summed it up for her because he knew she wouldn't ask outright.

Mary smiled at his offer then tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "I'm not sleeping with you though."

He sighed and shook his head, taking her arm and leading her across the parking lot as he teased her, "You're so fickle. First you whine because I'm not going to sleep with you, then you crawl into my bed uninvited, now you tell me you don't want to sleep with me. What's a guy to think?"

"When did I whine?" she protested.

"When you were high on narcs. Oh, that's right, you don't remember. I got an offer for your car, by the way." Marshall smiled as she jerked her arm out of his grasp, snorting at him.

"God, you are such a moron sometimes," Mary couldn't keep the smile out of her insult and bumped him so he'd have to quick step to avoid the fire hydrant.

* * *

The deli line was long, the hour of the day and favorable turn of the weather enticing the population outside, and the partners passed the time with chit chat and an occasional reply to an email or text. They were almost to the ordering window when a large group of loud, college aged interns squeezed into the place. Pushing through the line in order to gaze at the offerings behind the glass, they crowded and jostled the customers already there.

Mary stood a few feet away from Marshall and was pushed forward slightly by the surge. Her initial glare of annoyance was quickly replaced by a jolt of fear as one of the men reached around her to grab a menu off the counter. He didn't back up after snagging the desired item, stuck in close proximity by the architecture, and Mary tried to side step to break contact. Blocked by yet another customer, she tried the other side, the man behind her oblivious to her discomfort. More jostling, a hand on her back and a voice near her ear, "Sorry, lady. Kind of packed, isn't it?"

She clenched her fists and tried to keep her breathing under control. There was no reason to panic, she told herself, but her legs began to tremble anyway. She had about a minute to get out of the situation before she started throwing elbows.

"Marshall," she called, just loud enough to be heard.

His head snapped up with the sound of her voice, the tone just right to light up his radar. He hadn't noticed her migration with the crowd and mentally slapped himself for not assessing the situation properly. Spotting the blonde hair, he stepped out of line and reached through the people surrounding her to grab her elbow, squeezing reassuringly as he drew her out. A flash of badge allowed him to regain his spot in line and he placed Mary in front of him.

She just went with him, even closed her eyes for a moment as she was moving. His grasp on her arm was an anchor to the here and now, and she breathed in the odors of the deli to keep oriented; meat, cheese, vinegar. Stepping back as Marshall positioned her, Mary let her body contact his and reached down to grab his wrist. She could feel his pulse and allowed herself to breathe.

"I've got you. Are you with me?" he murmured behind her, careful not to lean in too close.

Nodding, Mary listened to the sounds of the orders being called back, the bell on the counter chiming a ready sandwich, the babble of an infant held by its mother; all sounds of the mundane, everyday world. With Marshall's warmth behind her, she kept her eyes on the LED display of numbers over the counter until her mind was once again cemented in the present. They stepped forward to the order window in tandem.

"I'd like the Mediterranean chicken wrap with carrot salad and an iced tea and," Marshall paused slightly to give Mary a chance to order. She said nothing, but squeezed his wrist and he continued, "she would like the BLT with fries and another iced tea."

Mary let go of his arm so he could pay, but did not create any space between them yet. She needed a few more seconds. Once he had his change, she reluctantly stepped away so they could move away from the window and continue to the other side of the long counter for utensils and napkins. Marshall kept her close and coaxed her out into the patio area with a light hand between her shoulder blades. Amazingly, they were able to snag a table just vacated, and he pulled out a chair for her to sink into. Mary placed her elbows on the table and rested her head on her palms. Marshall pulled in next to her.

"That spectacularly sucked," Mary groaned.

"You did great," he encouraged her.

"It would've gotten ugly had you not pulled me out when you did," she warned. "Jesus, what happens when I'm out by myself? I'll probably shoot two or three people before I realize what I'm doing." She was only half kidding.

"Hey, last week you would've been a quivering pile of goo on the floor in this situation. It's getting better…you're getting better." Marshall was concerned with her impatience. "I know you know this won't disappear overnight."

Mary sat back with a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair to put herself back together.

"I know, I know. It's just that I wish I knew what would set me off and when. A way to avoid a situation that I know is going to push me over the edge. But it's random, Marshall, like I said the other night. One day it's the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, another day it's someone running into me and then the next day it's a tug on my hair. What will it be tomorrow? A car backfiring? The smell of a cigarette? A whisper? Am I supposed to go through life never knowing what will catapult me into the abyss? Always on the cusp of making a complete fool of myself? What if I'm with a witness and have a panic attack? Or I freak out during a bust and don't see the perp who takes you down? Do you realize what this could mean?" Her words had come faster and faster with the last sentence nearly a plea.

"Okay, take a breath," he instructed slowly, reaching up to lay his hand on her shoulder. "I understand what you're saying. I do. But it's not going to come down to you not being able to do your job because of this. It won't."

Mary closed her eyes as he just voiced her fear. "How do you know that? I don't even know that."

"I know that because you're you, and I'm me and we've been slogging through crap both on and off the track for nearly seven years without losing our focus or crashing into the stands. I'm a bit invested in this thing called 'us', so I don't plan on letting you turn off the car and throw away the key just because the road gets bumpy."

Mary looked at him and saw the determination and sincerity in his eyes. He really wouldn't let her fail, she knew, would fight tooth and nail to get her through to the other side. The least she could do is try.

"Well, I hope you have a damn good pit crew, Andretti," Mary grinned. "I'm going to need a bit of an overhaul."

Marshall smiled, then rose to retrieve their food as their number was called. He returned to set her sandwich in front of her.

"Fuel up, Speed Racer."

* * *

"1480," Marshall said as they drove towards Mary's house at the end of the day.

"Uh…the cost of your services? What?" Mary was totally lost with the random comment.

"My SAT score. It was 1480," he elaborated, watching her reaction.

Mary smiled and looked at him. "Wow. That's high. What did that put you in…like the 98% percentile or something?"

"99th, actually," Marshall bragged.

"Why do I think you spent many a late night at the local library pouring over study guides and reference books?" Mary asked, still grinning.

"Paid off," Marshall nodded. "Got the college of my choice and a nice little scholarship to go with it."

Mary raised her eyebrows and said 'wow' again. Marshall thought she was being pretty good about losing. "So, I'm not going to totally force a miserable movie on you. How about I give you a choice?"

"I want to get From Dusk Til Dawn," Mary announced, and Marshall looked at her askance.

"That wasn't going to be one of my choices. Except for Salma Hayek, the film has no redeeming qualities." Marshall stated slowly, suspecting he was being set up. "What was your score?"

"1520," she said, grin growing into a full blown smile at his expression. "What? It wasn't like it was hard."

Marshall gaped at her for a few more seconds before shaking his head in resignation, "And yet, you are completely confounded by the flushing mechanism in the toilet."

"You like to fix my toilets," she chuckled.

"I do?"

"Yeah, you like to hear me say ballcock," she fluttered her lashes with the word.

Marshall couldn't help laughing out loud as a small part of his brain secretly agreed. Mary snickered with him and he thought it was nice to see her laugh. Nice to see that she still could. It renewed his spirits and gave him hope that the Mary he knew could be recovered.

"Oh, you are kidding me!" she ground out suddenly as they turned onto her street. "That's just fucking great…just fabulous." Mary was glaring out the window and slapped the dashboard.

"What? What is it?" Marshall asked, his trained gaze searching for the threat as he parked on the street in front of her house.

"Raph's here." She rubbed her temples to ward off the inevitable headache.

Despite Marshall's reservations and mild protests, Mary decided to go into the house and face the crowd within. Marshall would stay with her to run any interference, and she also suspected he wanted to keep an eye on Raph. He could pack her bag for her while she figured out what her family and boyfriend had been cooking up while she was out. The atmosphere inside the house was subdued, the occupants sitting around the kitchen counter discussing items in low voices as the partners came through the door.

"Mary," Raph saw her and came over. "I was hoping you'd be home soon."

As he approached, Mary involuntarily stepped back and ran into Marshall. Her partner didn't move and Raph stopped all forward progress when he saw her reaction. It was an awkward moment for all, but Mary couldn't bring herself to step away from Marshall.

"Raphael," greeted Marshall, holding out his hand to the other man.

The tension abated somewhat with the offer of her partner's hand, and Raph returned the greeting while motioning Mary into the kitchen to join her mother and sister. The conversation that followed was hesitant and stilted, and finally Raph asked Mary if he could talk to her in private for a while. Nodding agreement, Mary told him to wait for her out by the pool. She wanted to grab a jacket, and also noted Marshall's subtle signal that he wanted to have a word with her before she joined Raph.

"Are you comfortable out there with him?" Marshall asked with a raised eyebrow as they entered her room.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "He's afraid to even get close to me right now."

"I'll be right inside," he said.

"Marshall," she sighed, "I'll be fine."

The night was cool, stars peeking through the high, wispy clouds that had moved in around sunset. No moon yet, so the indigo shadows around the yard were only cast by the streetlights on the other side of the fence. Mary didn't turn on the pool lights, the dim lighting allowing her to hide emotions she'd rather not reveal; anxiety she'd rather not show. She sat down quietly in the chair next to Raph; silent as she waited for him to speak.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you the other day," he began slowly. "It was just a shock and I was upwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed," she corrected with a small smile. "I know. And you didn't yell, I did."

"I've thought about it a lot, Mary, and I want to do the right things. I want to keep you in my life and I want to help you with your healing. I thought we could talk about what you need me to do for you." Raph leaned forward to catch her eye, his eagerness heartwarming.

He would offer her the clothes off his back if that's what she asked for, Mary knew, but she wasn't sure he could survive the weeks and months of shivering in the cold for it.

"It's going to be a really rough time for me for a while, Raph. I'm afraid my normal bitchiness is going to be amplified and I'm not going to be pleasant to be around most of the time," she began, trying to paint an accurate picture for him. "I'll blow hot and cold, wanting you next to me one day and then screaming at you to go away the next. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to let you touch me anytime soon, and then when I can, I don't know whether you'll be ready. I don't really know what I need, I guess."

He studied his hands, elbows resting on his knees, and Mary could see him deliberating his options based on her statements.

"I'd like to try. I would want to try to be there for you. I feel like this is something I should do…want to do…because you are important to me. I came here to ask you if you would stay with me for a few days," he paused to hold up one finger as Mary took a breath to reply. "As my guest. We could talk, or not, and you could rest while I take care of things for you. I don't think this house is very restful." They shared a small grin.

"This would mean a lot to me, Mary, if you would allow me to care for you."

Not many women would get such a sincere and flattering offer, Mary thought. He was extending his hand with his heart resting in it, all in hopes that she would consent to abuse him in his own home. He would take good care of her, make sure all her everyday needs were met and that she wanted for nothing while there. It sounded nice.

Her attention was drawn the figures in the house seen through the kitchen window as Brandi rebuked her mother for some slight. Jinx's shrill denial carried faintly through the glass, and Mary sighed. Movement through the picture window caught her eye and Mary watched Marshall stride through the living room with a tolerant grin as he began to gesture towards the women in the kitchen; defusing the situation with some anecdote or witty quote, she was sure. She knew he was biding his time and waiting for her.

Making her decision, she turned a gentle smile on Raph and leaned over to squeeze his hand with her answer.

* * *

***** She wouldn't, would she?? I'm just tickled that Mary's SAT was higher than Marshall's :D Go girl! And remember, these two took the SAT back between 1985-1990 (depending on what age you make them). That was before the new scoring, so my scores reflect that. Please keep up with the fabulous REVIEWS!!! *****


	29. Admitting

***** Did she go with Raph? We know she doesn't want to burden Marshall, and she wants to be fair...ultimately...to Raph. *****

***** I have to say, the outpouring of reviews was unprecedented and so exciting!! Maybe I should cliff hang you all more often?? ...nah. *****

* * *

"_**If I stand here, I can see the Little Red Haired girl when she comes out of her house... Of course, if she sees me peeking around this tree, she'll think I'm the dumbest person in the world... But if I don't peek around the tree, I'll never see her... Which means I probably AM the dumbest person in the world... which explains why I'm standing in a batch of poison oak." **_

_**-- Charlie Brown**_

"_**Do not underestimate the determination of a quiet man."**_

– _**Iain Duncan Smith**_

* * *

The blue light of the TV screen flickered through the room, highlighting the small knicknacks tucked into corners and shelves here and there. A stylized, multicolored armadillo that screamed 'across the border', little pieces of bamboo meticulously built into a 1/1000th scale rendition of some temple, the baseball in the glass case with signatures of men she had never heard of. Every item portraying some travel, some dream; a lifetime of adventure captured in static pieces of material.

Mary thought of her destroyed momentos with sadness. She doubted anyone ever looked at some of them twice; a framed letter, two tickets tucked into a playbill, a wooden box with smooth, round rocks inside. Innocuous items with more value than their intrinsic worth. It had been hard to hold onto the pieces of her life as Jinx moved them repeatedly through the years, sometimes more than once within a week. Mary tried to keep all her treasures in a threadbare backpack along with the clothes she and Brandi owned. She closed her eyes in remembrance of the day she discovered a small hole in the corner of the sack. Two coins and a doll's head gone. Junk by anyone else's standard, but she cried herself to sleep that night because of the loss.

Now her memories were kept with unwanted birthday cards, folded letters and silly trinkets from a silly man. She still had the backpack; held together by duct tape and safety pins.

Scooting further down into the couch, Mary contemplated the shadows on the ceiling as she listened to the silence. How many times had she wished for quiet in her life? To go home and sit without the sound of another living being intruding on her thoughts, her anger, her sadness. Now, as she sat in the living room with the TV volume off, all she could hear were the echoes of pain in her head. Blame. Doubt. Grief. A cacophony of emotions that neither faded away with comfort nor ceased in their chatter with sleep. She needed to quiet them; put them away in their cubbyholes until she called them out willingly. Marshall would probably attach some obscure latin name to her mental musings, give them legitimacy by peer review. Mary just figured she was slowly going crazy. It was bound to happen sometime.

A door closed down the hall and Mary listened to the footsteps approach the living room. She didn't move, comfortable as promised and content to continue to stare at nothing. Quiet.

"You look sad," he said. "Did you change your mind?"

Mary moved her feet slightly to let another warm body join her on the couch. "No. I just feel bad for hurting him. I saw it on his face even though he assured me it was okay. I don't think he expected it. It's just…" she trailed off and rubbed her face.

"He cares about you."

"Yeah." Mary sighed.

Marshall pulled her feet onto his lap and aimlessly stroked her calf. "Do you need to go over there? I'll take you. I won't like it, but I'll take you."

She half smiled at him. Self sacrificing fool. "No. I'm where I want to be. And anyway, Raph's scared of vampire movies."

"Lucky Raph," Marshall drawled, reluctantly picking up the DVD remote to start Mary's movie.

"Oh come on, nitwit. You know you like the whole Titty Twister thing. And I see you adjust your jeans when that snake dance comes on."

Marshall shot her a sideways glance, "What? You're delusional. I don't adjust my jeans until she puts her foot in that guy's mouth."

He was satisfied by Mary's grimace and warded off her kick to his ribs with a chuckle. "God, pervis, remind me to keep my feet out of your lap for that part."

Capturing her feet again, Marshall tucked the blanket around them and fast forwarded through the previews. Sighing, he subjected himself to exploding vampires and the weirdly creepy female lead for two hours. He'd do it for her, he thought, watching Mary smile at the intro scenes.

His gut had clenched when she told him about Raph's offer. There was some comfort in knowing she had never seriously considered it, but he also knew her mind wandered to the ball player for other things. It was only a matter of time before she began pushing the limits of her physical needs. After six years, Marshall had no delusions about the defining aspects of Mary's sexuality. She used sex for control and pure pleasure; rarely for comfort or emotional bonding. It was a tool. Something she did well and she wielded it to reach her goals. Likely, she had been using it for a long time; probably earlier than she should have. It wasn't something she talked about. She'd want it back, and Raph was the logical choice for that reaffirmation of self. It made him shudder, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Shaking off the distressing thoughts, he tried to focus on the movie and his partner's warmth. She was here; had chosen him, and all he could do is make sure she had no reason to leave.

* * *

Mary pulled her foot away from the source of tickling. Eyes closed and still half asleep, she mumbled a curse and shifted on the cushions. _Tickle_. This time her foot was trapped and Mary tried to free it with the other limb as she became more awake. A quiet chuckle ultimately pulled her free of sleep and she cracked her eyes open to glare at her partner as she jerked her feet away from him.

"Jesus, can't you wake someone like a normal person? Shake my shoulder or something," she grumped.

"And pull back a bloody stump? No thanks. There're no teeth on this end," Marshall replied.

Mary wiped her mouth free of drool with a grimace and cursed the fact that she hadn't brushed her teeth before hunkering down on the couch. Her eyes were gritty with fatigue and she groaned while she stretched; flinching and grunting when a few remaining sore spots protested.

Marshall watched her rouse herself, ever amazed by how slowly she revved up yet managed to move at light speed once she was awake. Her flinches had him levering off the couch.

"You're still hurting. I should've offered some Advil or something," he stated, opening the cupboard to retrieve a medicine bottle.

"I'm good," she waved off his offer. "Just some stiffness with a few stubborn aches. I don't think the couch helped." Mary lurched off the couch and stumbled into the kitchen for a drink of water. "The mattress calls, and I heed willingly."

"Listen, Mary," Marshall started, resting his hip against the counter to look at her. "I want you to take my bed. I'm happy to sleep in the guest bed and I know you sleep more soundly in mine."

She rolled her eyes and tossed her head in annoyance, "And what? When I go home in a couple of days I'm going to take your bed with me? Forget it."

It was hard for her to protest. The siren song of her partner's bed had called faintly the whole time she had been home, and now it nearly shouted in her ear. It would be easy to give in. To crawl under the covers, listen to the tick of his bedside clock and allow herself to sleep in a cocoon of Marshall.

Marshall pushed off the counter to lean over and take her upper arms in a light grip, forcing her to focus on him. "I want you to sleep. You need to sleep. You look and feel enormously better, but if you don't start getting a full night's sleep all that progress is going to be for naught."

"I hate it when you say 'naught'," she mumbled, trying to derail the lecture. Marshall just raised his eyebrows before continuing.

"If, after a couple of nights of good sleep you want to switch to the guest bedroom, then I won't argue with you. But you came to me because you know you need to rest, and I wouldn't be doing you any favors if I let you just keep wandering the house at night. And, if you're up, I'm up." He let the last sentence hang in the air with its implications.

Marshall didn't play the trump card often. He knew he could spout reasons at her until he was blue in the face without her agreeing to anything, but if she thought her actions would adversely affect him she would reconsider. Her eyes had already slid to the right while she digested his words. Processing.

"I won't sleep any better just because I'm in your bed," she stated, crossing her arms with a sigh.

Marshall tilted his head and peered at her as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "That's where you were the other day when you slept past noon. You've had very few nightmares there."

"It's not the bed," she insisted, then huffed at him when he still looked confused, "C'mon, it doesn't take a psychological genius to figure out that I sleep better when I sleep with **you**. Your bed is more restful because you're in it…or at least it smells like you. So, you see, just putting me in there while you sleep in the other room isn't going to make a difference. Just give me the guestroom."

He studied her as she stood in front of him looking slightly uncomfortable at her admission. These little moments of shyness endeared her to him at a different level. Mary Shannon stripped of brashness and snark, sticking a bared part of herself out there and trusting that he wouldn't step on it. Marshall grinned at the little tingle of warmth in his gut; the same one he got when he had first seen her blush. A glimpse into the softer side; the woman. Unfortunately, it only increased his desire to protect her.

"I don't understand you," he said softly, causing her to look up at him inquisitively. "You know it'll help, you know I don't mind, you're not afraid of me and you know it's temporary. Why are you fighting it?"

"_Because when I wake up with you lying against me I wonder what it would be like to be with you,"_ she thought as she bit her lip. The thought completely sidetracked her and she stood silently as Marshall watched her. She really needed to uncross this wiring in her brain, Mary decided. The trauma would fade and she needed her wits about her in order to transition back into real life. Melanie's words suddenly floated through her brain, _"don't ignore your need for his comfort"_.

"Let me guess," Marshall teased, sensing the mood of the moment darkening. "You don't trust yourself to keep your hands off me and you'll lie awake thinking of ways to take advantage of me?"

"What?" she looked at him in alarm, wondering if she had said something out loud for a moment before realizing he was teasing her.

"Oh, please, numbnuts," she tried to interject the maximum amount of annoyance. "Like your Snoopy pajamas turn me on."

"I thought women fell for a man with a puppy," he whined.

"Not when they're plastered on your ass," Mary chuckled, shaking her head. He was ridiculous, and she was too tired to argue about it anymore. "Fine. Bring your mutt clad body to bed when you get tired. I'm going to go hog the covers."

Mary headed to the bathroom and Marshall's grin spread across his face.

* * *

Mary's eyes flew open with the unknown noise. She sucked in a breath and pressed into the pillow as she saw the shadow in the room.

"Hey, it's me," Marshall said softly. "Just coming to bed. I didn't mean to scare you."

Her heart was trying to pound out of her chest and Mary had to take a few deep breaths to return to calm. The mattress sunk on his side as he crawled in, Mary catching a whiff of toothpaste and fabric softener as the blankets were disturbed by his presence. Comforting. She stretched and rolled over to study him, discerning the lines of his profile in the dim room.

"What time is it?" she whispered.

"A little after midnight," he answered, rolling his head to look at her.

Mary was quiet, and Marshall wondered if she had fallen back to sleep.

"I usually start having the dreams about now." Her voice broke the silence and he listened.

"What do you need?"

Marshall felt her hand creep into his and enclosed it in his grasp. Her fingers were warm from being tucked under the covers. A few rustles as she settled, then a sigh.

"Goodnight, Marshall."

"Sweet dreams, Mare."

* * *

***** Oh, happy day!! Not only to Marshall's, but in his bed. Remember when Marshall said there were islands of calm within the storm? Well, I think they're getting voted off the island soon...uh oh. Thanks for waiting me out! Please please REVIEW!! *****


	30. Punching

***** We knew it couldn't last. Mary just twists herself up, and now it's time to start working through things. Marshall, of course, is her target. Hang on!! *****

* * *

"_**We declare our right on this earth to be a human being, to be **__**respected**__** as a human being, to be given the rights of a human being in this society, on this earth, in this day, which we intend to bring into existence by any means necessary.**__**"**_

– _**Malcolm X**_

"_**Peace is that brief **__**glorious**__** moment in history when everybody stands around reloading.**__**"**_

* * *

"So, Mary, here's what I'd like you to do," Melanie spoke in the tone of voice that Mary equated to anticipated pain. Dentists, doctors, her accountant. They could speak sentences that relayed volumes of information, but ultimately it all translated into five words: This. Is. Going. To. Hurt.

She had had two weeks of smooth sailing. No panic attacks and only the occasional mild nightmare that was easily dismissed; a warm bed with a warm body the salve for wakefulness the first week. Finally able to peel herself off of Marshall, Mary had reluctantly returned to her own home with trepidation. She had spent the first few days and nights looking for her partner even though he wasn't there. Expecting to see his dorky mug walk into the kitchen in the morning, wondering why he didn't answer when she shouted about the lack of hot water in the shower; snippets of domestic bliss that shouldn't be.

Mary knew it was time to leave the morning she had woken with Marshall curled around her. She shifted to slide out of the bed and get up only to have him tighten his arms and sleepily murmur, "stay, baby". It wasn't the words that scared her, or even the fact that it was her partner using the endearment, it was the overwhelming desire to do just that. To snuggle into his embrace and pull his arm over her while she almost hoped he would wake and… _"oh, yes, definitely time to leave,"_ Mary repeated to herself yet again.

Throwing herself back into work with her return home, Mary had gotten into a bit of a rhythm at the office. Stan, true to his word, made sure she had plenty to do while chained to her desk. She begged Marshall to sneak her along for witness visits, but the damned man would only quote policy and procedure to her as he grinned like an idiot while making a show of gathering keys and files. Her narrowed eyes and pursed lips had him trotting from the office more quickly than normal. Eleanor would watch them until Mary turned the glare on her, the woman smarter than she looked as she pretended nothing was going on.

She hadn't thought about her time in the basement much, purposefully shoving the events to the back of her mind as her body was nearly healed and her mood more stable. Knowing the time was near to dig into that septic tank of memories, Mary had spent the previous night sitting on the couch eating wings and watching old movies in order to keep from going to sleep, wary of previews her brain might think important. The exercise proved futile by three in the morning as her eyes fluttered shut to the grainy scenes of car chases; flying open again in terror an hour later as she was being chased through never ending hallways. Apparently, she'd have to either find a better avoidance mechanism or rent some more exciting movies.

Marshall had called her around breakfast time to offer his company at her appointment, but Mary declined adamantly. The last thing he needed to see was her surely frazzled state as she exited Melanie's office. He would fret and hover, and she was guaranteed to be in a hitting mood. Bad for him all around. This way, she would have time to gather her wits about her, have some lunch, then roll into the office with her façade secured firmly; no one would have to know or worry. It had worked for some twenty odd years, why try something different now?

Mary realized Melanie was speaking to her.

"Mary? Where'd you go?" Melanie asked, head tilted as she regarding the woman sitting in the recliner. "You seem distracted…tired. Are you sure you want to start doing this today?"

"No, no. Well, yes, I want to start this today. I'm good. Just thinking of a few things I forgot to do earlier," Mary lied.

"Okay. Now, we talked about some background issues and some ways you've coped with rough situations in the past when you were here last week. I'm fairly sure you'll be able to do what I'm asking today with minimal fallout, but if at any time you feel as though you're losing control or you need to stop, you tell me. EMDR works quickly and well if you're ready for it, but if you run into problems coping, we can take a break and spend some time developing some relaxation mechanisms." Melanie again reminded Mary of the elements involved in her choice of therapy.

Mary nodded impatiently, sitting up and hoping to be all fixed up as soon as possible. Tell the story a few times, hit on the highlights and do some physical exercises, then put the whole thing into the past and get back to her life. Yeah, she could do that. They didn't call her the cast iron bitch at headquarters for no reason. Marshall hated it, Mary actually thought it was flattering.

Melanie settled back into her chair and had Mary do the same. "You're going to pretend you're watching a movie. The format is your choice. You can close your eyes if you'd like, but I just want you to view the events of your kidnapping from beginning to end as if you were watching it on a screen. You're not really there, you don't have to feel it happen, you're just telling me what occurs as it plays out. I can't see it, so you have to walk me through it. Does that make sense?"

"Sure. Can I stop if I need to?" Mary asked.

"You can, but if you can keep going it would be better. I'm going to try to identify the parts of the experience that seem to upset you the most. That produce the most anxiety. Those will be the parts we'll focus on in future visits. But for this time, just relay the events. No analysis, no questions, just tell me the story."

Mary closed her eyes for a minute and placed herself in Marshall's living room on the couch. She would pretend to be watching his TV, wrapped in his blankets.

"I had just stepped outside the door to the theatre where I had seen my mother perform. She had given me a lecture, but I had to take a phone call so I stepped out. There was no warning before the first one came up behind me, grabbed me and put the cloth over my face…" Mary began the tale with the fight in the parking lot.

Her fists were clenched as she retold the gruesome details of Chuck's shooting, trying not to remember the smell of blood and urine but shuddering nonetheless. Legs tucked up under her as she haltingly told of hanging helplessly at the ends of the chains when the fight was finally gone from her body. Head in her hands remembering the first time, tears on her face throughout the telling of the second time; reluctantly whispering about the final time. Mary's head was pressed back into the softness of the recliner as she viewed the last frames of her movie; body visibly relaxing as she told of Marshall and Stan's appearance. Nerves shot, muscles trembling and a voice that felt as though it had spent ten days in the desert. The clock showed forty five minutes had passed. Mary felt as though it had been a thousand years; her body dried up and desiccated like a mummy.

"Am I done?" she asked tremulously.

"Was that the whole story?" Melanie replied, her voice soft to match Mary's.

Nodding, the blonde woman swallowed a few times then breathed deeply before opening her eyes. They were reddened and slightly swollen and Mary rubbed at them in irritation.

"That's the whole thing. Everything that happened." Mary had promised herself she would tell the hard parts.

Melanie coaxed her through a relaxation technique they had practiced the week before, and Mary was surprised to find it made her feel a little more put together before she had to leave the office. Screaming in the shower worked better, but her options were limited at the moment.

The twenty minute drive back to the office in traffic, however, had her cursing her family, her partner and other members of humanity by the time she keyed herself through the glass doors. There were too many images in her brain screaming for attention, mental and emotional filters dented and torn by the session. She should've gone back home.

* * *

"Well, look who dragged herself in at a quarter after lunchtime," Marshall teased, squinting at his computer screen as he heard Mary walk to her desk.

"Shut up," she snapped, throwing her purse in the drawer and slamming it shut.

Marshall's head whipped around to look at her as she dropped into her chair and smacked a few items on her desk out of her way to login. She growled and beat the mouse on the desk a few times as the cursor wasn't fast enough. Her hair was messy as if she'd been running her fingers through it and he recognized the tense posture.

"Mare," he began and she shot him a sideways glare before he could continue.

"I have work to do and only a half day to do it in. Unless you have something to say that will speed that process up, keep your trap shut."

Marshall's eyebrows shot up and he shared a look with Eleanor. The relatively relaxed Mary they had enjoyed the past couple of days had been returned to the mother ship. He wasn't sure what had happened at her therapy session, but it hadn't been good. He put his pencil down.

"If your ass comes out of that chair and into my space, you're going to be sorry," she warned with a finger pointed at him, eyes never leaving her computer screen.

"Mary, are you all right?" Eleanor asked, concerned.

Mary looked at her in disbelief. "What the fuck do you care? You've been here two weeks. Why the hell would you think you can ask me if I'm all right? File something."

Marshall sent Mary a disapproving stare while Eleanor just shook her head and pretended to zip her lips shut. She had heard about this side of Mary, just hadn't seen it yet.

"Jesus Christ," Mary exclaimed as her computer refused to boot properly, smacking the side of the tower in frustration. "Is everything in this fucking place a piece of shit or is it just mine? You'd think they could pay for something from this decade for fuck's sake! Don't tell me you can't find that file, you piece of shit. Goddammit!" Her rant escalated as she stood to reach for the wires behind the terminal.

Marshall had to intervene at that point. One, because she was obviously distressed and on edge; two because her language was over the top, and three because the last time she abused her computer it took him and IT three hours to repair the damage she had done. He strode over to her desk, gritted his teeth and firmly took her arm to lead her to the conference room.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she cursed at him while trying to free herself.

"Don't," he warned as she went to hit him with her other hand.

Wrestling her into the empty room, Marshall closed the door and released her. He immediately stepped back as she pushed at him, self preservation firmly ingrained after dealing with Mary for six years. She was ready to fight, itching for one actually. If she could provoke him to action it would somehow soothe her. Marshall, however, rarely indulged her because it only frustrated him to have to physically subdue her. He always managed to feel like a bully even though he would be sore the next day from her abuse. Today was especially challenging. He contemplated his actions as she stepped into him yet again with a push. He didn't want to grab her wrists, didn't want to turn her and use a bear hug, didn't really want to restrain her at all and trigger a response from her time in that basement.

Mary knew he was reluctant to touch her and it only provoked her to push at him harder. "I see you thinking about it, asshole. I'm pissing you off but you won't touch me, will you? Just gonna let me get away with it because now I'm too fragile to mess with. Don't think I can take it, do ya?" she spat.

"No. That's not what I'm thinking at all. I would never make the mistake of thinking you can't take it." Marshall responded, not fully lying. He turned and avoided her next thrust, causing her to stumble a bit off balance.

The misstep pissed her off. "Prove it, jerk. Make me quit. Show me some respect," she snarled; pushes turning into punches.

Marshall had a moment of clarity before she landed a punch to his ribs that hurt.

He knew he startled her when he suddenly caught her arms and whirled her around. A few quick moves and she was immobile with her back against his chest and his leg trapping hers. She tried to shake him off a few times but he held on tight, even squeezing her wrists tightly enough to make her hiss once. Finally, Mary settled.

"Are you done," he muttered angrily, hating every moment of this.

Mary nodded curtly and he released her, stepping out of range quickly in case she was lying. They stood in silence, Mary with her back to him, and Marshall wondered if things had gone too far. He knew he had to do it, show her he wasn't afraid to get physical. That she could still count on him to react to her the same way as he always did; give her back the normal. There was nothing to do now but wait for her response.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked quietly.

"I'll sport a bruise or two. Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied truthfully.

"I don't want to talk about it," she offered.

"I have a feeling you've talked about it a little too much already today," he guessed. "Maybe you should just go home, Mare. I don't think your mind is really geared up for work at this point. And I think Eleanor is ready to call the cops."

Mary snorted and glanced out of the windows to see the secretary looking at them with concern. She narrowed her eyes at the older woman and was satisfied to see her return her eyes to her work.

"She needs to mind her own business," Mary muttered.

"We are her business, and you're being difficult," he began, only to have her whirl on him in anger. He continued before she could speak, "For reasons fully understandable and that I want to help you with. But Stan's trusting you to be able to do the job now that you're back, and I suspect this sort of behavior may get you an extra week or two of leave. Is that what you're aiming for?" Marshall gave her an assessing look.

Mary tossed her head back and crossed her arms with a sigh, "No. I get it. Just put on a happy, fucking face and pretend my little therapy visit this morning fixed me right up, right?"

Marshall just stared at her knowing anything he said at that point would be taken poorly.

"What? No witty comeback or sage advice?" she sneered.

He noted her sallow complexion and reddened eyes. "How late were you up last night?"

Mary realized she wasn't going to be able to bait him again. He was still angry from the physical battle and she didn't want to now drag him into a verbal one. "I got about an hour of sleep. I didn't want to sleep."

"And what are you going to do tonight?"

Mary shrugged, defensive, "Either I sleep or I don't. I don't usually get to plan it. What do you care?"

As soon as she said it she realized her mistake. Marshall's eyes hardened, then showed the hurt before he slid them over to stare at the windows. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Pissed.

"Jesus, Marshall," Mary whispered, resting one hand on the conference table and rubbing her forehead with the other. "I'm sorry. That was a crappy thing to say and I didn't mean it. I had to retell the whole fucking story from beginning to end this morning and it stirred up more than I expected. I feel like I'm going to fly apart here."

Her insult was worse than the punch in his gut she had landed a few minutes earlier. He felt dismissed even though he knew it slipped off her tongue without thought. A defensive move to turn him away and protect herself. Her apology confirmed that, but the hurt was not so quick to fade.

"Then just go home, Mary," he advised. Still not looking at her.

"Marshall?" she asked, now afraid.

He turned his eyes on her and she relaxed slightly. He wasn't angry, but looked somehow guarded. "You're wound tight, and now so am I. We're going to bicker at each other until I go check on Jackie later and it's going to result in one or the other of us saying even more things we'll regret. Go home, try to get some rest, and I'll call you to see if you want me to bring dinner by later."

"I'll be okay. I'll just focus on what I'm doing and let you be," she protested.

Marshall relented, and he and Mary settled back behind their desks. He kept looking at her as she sighed and huffed through the paperwork and internet searches, probably not realizing she was making noise. She needed some comfort and some rest, and it made his gut ache to think she was denying herself; especially after the morning events. At one point, he was sure she had been wiping tears from her eyes, but when he asked if she needed anything she glared at him. Finally, after about two hours, he couldn't take the tension and rose to grab his jacket.

"I thought your appointment with Jackie was at 4:30?" she asked, wondering why he was leaving the office so soon.

"It is. I need to…run a few errands," he hesitated.

Mary knew he was leaving because of her and she set her jaw, turning back to the computer. "Fine. Hope that goes well for you."

Marshall stared at her for a few more minutes before turning to leave.

* * *

***** Fight fight!! They just fight so well :) Mary just wants everything to be back to normal...want to take her licks like everyone else. Marshall wasn't ready for the about face...poor guy didn't get the memo again. Somehow, I don't think Mary is going to have a good night.... Please, with the REVIEWS!!! *****


	31. Doubting

***** I have learned four things over Mother's Day: my children love me, smoked oysters and crème brulee are foods of the gods, putting a fence in is really hard work, and strapless bras have got to be the most uncomfortable garment on the planet. I'm sorry I missed a day of posting…please don't be hating! *****

***** Mary and Marshall both contemplate the tension of the day. Mary tries so hard to pretend she's got everything under control…Then makes a decision that may have consequences far beyond her comprehension. *****

* * *

"_**There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.**__**" **_

– _**Buddha**_

"_**Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping... waiting... and though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir... open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us... guides us... passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we'd know some kind of peace... but we would be hollow... Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we'd be truly dead.**__**"**_

– _**Joss Whedon**_

* * *

Outside of Mary's mutters to herself, the office was quiet for about an hour until Eleanor spoke up. Mary looked at her as though she had grown a second head, almost forgetting the woman was still in the room.

"Do you and Inspector Mann fight like that often?"

"And if we do?" Mary snapped, annoyed with the intrusion.

Eleanor raised an eyebrow as she calmly replied, "I was just wondering whether I should order the super sized first aid kit or keep the one I have. He didn't look happy about it."

Mary had noticed she had a habit of tacking relevant statements onto the end of irrelevant ones. It caught you off guard.

"He'll get over it. Don't you need to clean the copier or something?" Mary was intentionally rude in hopes of ending the conversation.

"Only on Fridays," replied Eleanor, unbothered by Mary's tone. "You know I'm a widow, right? That my John died about a year ago?"

"Seriously?" Mary huffed, placing her pen on the desk harder than necessary in order to send a glare in Eleanor's direction. "You're going to try to bond with me or something now? Today? When it's fairly obvious even to the fucking plants that I'm not having a good day?" Mary remembered Marshall telling her something about the woman's husband dying in a car accident or bus accident or something. It wasn't high on her priority list of things to remember in the last month, and she saw no relevance to it now.

"I have no doubt you're having a bad day. I've had many of them myself." Eleanor's voice hadn't changed pitch or tone with Mary's ire.

"Great. Then you'll know why I ask you to please shut up." Mary ducked her head to focus on her work, expecting the secretary to cease and desist.

Eleanor folded her hands on her desk and leaned on her elbows to stare at Mary. "I spent a lot of energy fighting those that tried to care for me. Pushing them away because I couldn't have the one thing I so desperately wanted. No one could comfort me, no one could take away the pain. I just wanted everyone to leave me alone." Her statement hung in the air and Mary sat very still.

Finally, the blonde woman slowly offered a response without looking up, "I know what you're trying to say, but it's not the same. No one died on me." Except a part of herself, Mary thought. A part she desperately wanted back.

"It's still grief, Mary," Eleanor's voice was softer. "I may have been here for a measly two weeks, but I'm sure of a few things. Stan should get paid far more than he does to have to keep the two of you in line; and that man you chased out of here would do anything in the world for you. I'm surprised you haven't seen that in six years."

Mary felt her eyes fill with tears at the statement and breathed carefully to prevent herself from showing any emotion. "You don't know anything about us," she murmured.

Eleanor sighed and sat back, returning to her previous task of tallying numbers; one eye on the woman across the room. "You're right, I don't. I'm sure all partners take care of each other that well and I'll get used to it and pay it no mind soon. You seem to think it's nothing, so I'm assuming there's nothing special about it." There was no sarcasm, just a statement of fact as she nodded to herself.

Mary stared at her out of the corner of her eye, trying to see if the woman was baiting her, but Eleanor seemed to be working without thought to Mary. She scoffed at the older woman's musings. She and Marshall had a tighter partnership than most, Mary knew, felt it in her bones and had heard others comment. Usually inappropriately. But Eleanor seemed to imply there was more to it than just the standard partnership; a deeper level of caring on Marshall's part that Mary refused to see. Biting her lip, Mary thought of all the little things he had done for her in the last month. Things that had made her life easier and more comfortable than she could've hoped. Midday trips to the store so she'd have her favorite shampoo, a nightlite in the hallway at his house so she wouldn't 'destroy the artwork' when she wandered into his room after a bad dream, earplugs for her return home; she knew who those were for.

Mary placed her fingers on her cheek with another memory. He had kissed her there spontaneously after she had laughed at his joke. _"For smiling,"_ he had said. It had made her smile all day, and Mary remembered thinking she was a grinning idiot. It was a dangerous road to wander down, this recall of small gestures of affection and feelings of warmth; possibly something more.

Shaking herself out of the reverie, Mary stood to grab her jacket and purse. She needed to go home, clean something and try to get a nap before Jinx came home from whatever bar she had frequented today. Marshall would be fine. They would be fine, and it didn't do anyone any good to pay heed to feelings that were too mixed up to be real. Eleanor might look hot in a pair of boots, but she didn't know jack about her and Marshall, and the woman hadn't exactly been observing them in the most normal of times. Sniffing too many copier fumes, Mary decided.

Tossing the woman a curt goodbye, Mary headed for home.

* * *

Marshall keyed himself through the door to the office with a reflexive glance at his partner's desk. Vacant. Brow furrowed, he did a quick visual scan of the conference room and patio. It wasn't yet six thirty and he expected her to still be here. The fight. More than likely, she had stewed about it for a while, verbally abused Eleanor until she became bored and then went home. Even more likely that she was still mad.

Marshall sighed as he hung his jacket on the chair back and eased into the seat, elbows on his knees and tapping his boots against the linoleum for a few minutes as he reviewed the disaster in the conference room. He hadn't expected her anger and desperation; wasn't prepared to counter her attacks, both physical and emotional. Normally at the ready to deflect any barrage, Marshall felt like the only kid left on one side of a dodge ball game today. Wide eyed and vulnerable, and she had hit him with a slobberknocker.

"_What do you care?"_ the question again made him wince. He knew he shouldn't give it any weight. Knew it at that time, but the stress of the last month had begun to make him touchy and more defensive than normal. He missed her too. Missed her in his house; in his bed.

He had taken the plunge and voiced his feelings for Mary to Melanie, expecting the therapist to advise him to rein them in and put them on the back burner. Instead, to his surprise, she had encouraged him to nurture them. It wouldn't do him any good to stuff the emotions away while he was trying to care for her. Even if he wasn't expressing his feelings verbally, Melanie assured him he would be less anxious if he allowed himself the comfort and pleasure of expressing the feelings through his actions; through his touch. Mary seemed to have responded, softened to him slightly, but since she had gone home he felt her pull away again. Marshall pretty much assumed he was spinning his wheels at this point, and days like this only served to promote that futility.

"She left about an hour and a half ago," Eleanor offered. She had come back into the office from an errand and saw the man looking pensive.

"Did she say anything?" He was hoping to get some idea of her mood.

Eleanor shrugged. "Not much. I tried to give her some advice and she just got quiet and left."

Marshall would've liked to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. He grinned at the image.

"You **are** going to call her, aren't you?" Eleanor asked, eyebrow cocked in his direction.

If Mary could be blasé about his presence, then Marshall could play the 'don't know don't care' game as well. "I might. She'd probably rather be left alone."

"Take it from me, Inspector, the last thing she needs is to be left alone. You know that," the woman rebuked him gently.

Marshall stared at her for a minute, then sighed deeply and pulled out his phone. Deliberately turning away from Eleanor, he dialed Mary.

* * *

_His hands were on her shoulders, caressing her collarbones with his thumbs as he placed small kisses on her jawbone. Mary sighed and let her head fall back to give him access to the more delicate skin of her neck. Her only thought was of the man holding her to him, the promise in his kiss and the whispered words that made her ache. His palms were smooth, and as he slid one hand down her bare back the other crept up to cradle her head while he drew her earlobe into his mouth. _

"_Oh, Jesus," she whispered, legs turning to jello. An odd ringing sound infused her head and she willed it away. Focus on the sound of skin against skin, sighs next to her ear._

"_Mary," he murmured, tongue teasing the skin beneath her ear, "you need to turn off the alarm."_

_She drew away slightly. "What?"_

_Marshall pulled back to stare at her with eyes bluer than was possible. "The alarm is going off. Can you get that?"_

She plummeted back into reality as the sound of her cell phone overrode the dream. Mary struggled awake and nearly rolled off the couch as she reached for the device on the coffee table. Her body was still aching from unresolved passion and she rubbed her face as she answered the call.

"This is Mary," she grunted.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, voice uncertain.

"Marshall," she replied, then thought _"Oh, shit…__**Marshall**__!" _as reality collided with fantasy and she felt herself blush. "Oh, my God," she mumbled as she struggled into a sitting position.

"You okay? You sound a little rough."

Mary cleared her throat and tried to clear her thoughts. "Yeah, I was napping I guess. Didn't really plan to."

He felt bad for waking her, especially knowing she wouldn't go back to sleep at this point. "Sorry. Just wanted to know if you needed me to bring dinner by?"

As she pushed sleep aside, the memories of the day rushed back in and she closed her eyes with regret. She really should invite him over for dinner; apologize for the surprise attack today and the words she still wished she could retract, but the dream now had her unsettled.

"Thanks, but I think we'll be okay tonight, Marshall. I was just going to order pizza." Now Eleanor's words were torturing her, _"…would do anything for you…"_. Mary groaned and pushed off the couch.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked, concerned with her hesitant speech and sounds of discomfort.

"I'm fine, Marshall. Really. Just dreams," Mary tried to inject some confidence into the statement.

There was a pause on his end before he replied, "You know you don't have to try to stay up all night to keep from having nightmares. You're always welcome here." He spoke with his eyes closed, wishing on some theoretical star that she would accept the offer.

Mary pinched the bridge of her nose as she squeezed her own eyes shut. She wanted to go. Her partner's calming presence called to her, and her own conscience wanted to make up for the hurt she had caused him earlier. It would be so easy to let him hold her all night. Let his hands comfort her…

"_Un-fucking-believable! Get it together, Shannon,"_ she chastised herself. The whole day had just scattered her ability to think rationally to all directions. Thoughts and feelings that should lie dormant under lock and key were flitting around her head; taunting her as she tried to smack them out of the air like annoying insects. Seriously, until she could get this under control it would be a mistake to stay with Marshall.

"As much as I love your breakfasts, I have to decline. I can't run to your house every time I have a rough night. I'm a big girl," Mary tried to keep her tone light.

"Will someone be there with you?" He didn't want her home alone.

"Unless Jinx passes out in a dumpster and Brandi gets lucky, yeah, there'll be someone here," she drawled.

She heard him chuckle slightly, then a moment of silence. "About today, Mare," he began.

"Can we just forget it? I was a bitch, I know. Eleanor pointed it out for me. I just need to settle a few things in my head." Mary really didn't want to talk about it. "Are we good? Do we have to hash this out?"

He could tell she really didn't want to talk about it. Embarrassed; pissed at herself and probably slightly torqued at him for walking out. Marshall decided to let her off the hook, as usual.

"We're good. Just don't make me kick your ass in the office again. I'll get a reputation," he teased lightly.

"Whatever," she snickered. "I'll see you tomorrow, idiot."

"Call me if you need me," he warned.

"Good night, Marshall," Mary sing-songed, then disconnected.

Marshall sat back in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. She was off. He could tell she was measuring her words; what she said was not necessarily what she wanted to say. Again the problem of not being able to look at her while he spoke to her. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get much sleep tonight.

* * *

Mary was glad Brandi and Jinx had not returned home by ten p.m. as the panic attack had her huddling in the corner of the living room with her knees drawn to her chest. Every coping mechanism had failed, and a second attack had piggy-backed onto the first, leaving her trembling, gasping and unable to stop crying for thirty minutes. No one needed to see that.

She was almost hoping for their presence by one a.m. while she stumbled into the kitchen leaving every light illuminated on her way. She berated herself for her earlier prayer for her family's absence; another human body in the house would've made her feel less vulnerable. Instead, she was jumping at shadows and noises that ordinarily wouldn't be noticed. Scared. Taking a drink of water, Mary eyed her phone that she had carried out with her. Not yet. She wasn't going to call him yet.

Not only was the next nightmare terrifying, but the follow up dream while she sat at the kitchen table trying unsuccessfully to stay awake had her hormones in a riot. Again, Marshall. Again, confused. How could visions of violation by men without faces transition into pleasure by a man whose face was only too familiar? It didn't make any sense, and as it was three in the morning, Mary figured it wasn't going to resolve itself soon.

Grunting in frustration, she grabbed her phone and dialed. It rang once, twice, and Mary suddenly hung up as she was hit with a revelation.

It had been a little over a month since the rape. She was healed up, and her body only bore the faintest of visible scars. Maybe this slow intrusion of libidinous thoughts was signaling her to move on. A 'go' for seeking pleasure again. It only seemed reasonable that if she tolerated the images and touches in her dream she was ready to do the same while awake. The thought made more and more sense, and Mary headed to the bedroom to change.

Grabbing her phone as she headed out the door, Mary noted the missed call. Marshall calling her back. Shaking her head, she tossed the phone onto the passenger seat as she coaxed the Probe to life. She would talk to him soon enough, she reasoned. No need to call him back now since her dilemma had been solved.

It was a short drive to her destination, the route familiar and practically deserted at this time of the morning. Both hands on the steering wheel as she drew a few deep breaths after parking, Mary briefly debated her decision to move forward; consequences unknown at this point. "Fools rush in…" she murmured to herself as she opened the door and emerged into the night air.

She knew he'd open the door; knew he'd know it was her. Who else knocked on his door before the sun came up? The rumpled man looked confused, but his eyes lit up when he saw her. Mary smiled.

"Mary," he murmured sleepily, "I wasn't expecting you. Why are you here?" To the point when he was half awake.

She stepped closer to urge him to let her pass. "Why do I usually show up at this time of the morning, Raph?" she murmured, pulling him into the apartment with her and shutting the door.

* * *

***** Holy hell. There's no way this could go well. I don't think either party is ready for this situation. Beat me with wet noodles for keeping you waiting, then dropping this bomb…go ahead, I know you want to! But please, between beatings, REVIEW!!? *****

*****And I'd like to leave you with my son's "essay" on why I'm the best mom: **_**"My mom is the best because she pays all the bills. Electric, gas, lights and dog shots. And tons more too. My mom is the best because she makes me practice my tae kwon do and shakes the black belt packet at me. My mom is the best because she pays the tax on the video game I wanted even though my gift card ran out of money. She has the most change in her purse over anyone I know. My mom is the best mom because she has freckles like me."**_** Awww. Thanks, buddy! *****


	32. Deteriorating

***** This is rated just slightly zesty of T...T-13? Just a friendly FYI. Mary is on a path to her own demise, once again. We can only hope someone waits on the other side to save her from herself. *****

***** Thanks to roar526 for putting up with me even while she's on vacation! *****

* * *

_**"There comes a moment in your life where nothing and no one around you matters. The world seems to be fading away, and you have to fight your way through a bleak nothing. You feel useless, and that no one could ever want you. You feel like just because someone saw through your charade that everyone else can too. Nightmares invade your mind every night, and you wake up screaming for someone who's not there. Your hands grasp the thin air around you, and even a slight shadow makes your body tremble with fear. You can feel the sweat, and you just seem to be stuck in that one spot."**_

– _**anonymous**_

"_**Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future."**_

_**- Fulton Oursler**_

* * *

Marshall groaned and rolled over, tossing the pillow off his head and kicking off the blankets. Hot. His brain pestered him to wake; something more than the temperature had disturbed him. Draping a forearm across his eyes, he lay sprawled on the bed in his pj pants as the cool air from the fan washed over him. The phone on the nightstand beeped its quiet signal that he had missed a call. A moment of confusion as time and place registered, then he was rolling over quickly to grab the cell. Mary.

"Dammit," he hissed. Anger at himself fading slightly as he noted she'd only called about ten minutes prior. Still, he shouldn't have slept through it. She didn't leave a message either. For whatever reason, it gave him a vague sense of unease.

He hit the send button as he propped himself up on the pillows piled against the headboard. Cleared his throat a few times so he didn't sound too sleepy. Even though it was after three in the morning, he didn't want her to feel bad for waking him.

Three rings, four. Voicemail. Marshall looked at the screen, then brought the phone back to his ear in order to leave a message. Maybe she was in the shower? The really bad dreams would still send her there.

"Mare, it's me. I'm sorry I missed your call. Call me back, I'm awake," he spoke into the phone.

Pondering his options for a minute, Marshall levered out of the bed to visit the restroom. He wouldn't sleep until she called him back, but he didn't want to stray far from the bed if there was the chance to go back to sleep after he assured himself she was okay. Grabbing his book from the nightstand as he crawled back onto the sheets, he flicked on the bedside lamp and found his place in the chapter. He'd wait for a little while before trying her again.

* * *

Mary pushed Raph back against the door as it closed, running her hands up his chest and around his neck. She didn't want to think about this too much, just wanted to dive in and let instinct take over. Pressing against him, she kissed him with intent; focusing on his lips beneath hers and the fading scent of his cologne. A little frisson of fear tightened in her gut and she deepened the kiss to chase it away.

His hands were on her waist, her hips, then sliding around to anchor her to him while he recovered from the surprise. But then, to her irritation, he grabbed her shoulders and gently moved her back.

"Mary," he began, breathing a bit heavily, "what are you doing? Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Jesus, Raph," she muttered, leaning in to kiss him again as he turned his head to keep her in sight. "Don't tell me you're going to analyze it. It's you, it's me, and it's being freely offered. Step up to the plate," she teased.

His hesitation had stopped her forward motion and she didn't want to slow down. Either it was going to happen, or it wasn't, but if they took time for chit chat she was sure to hightail it out of there. Mary ran her fingernails over his nipples and the man grunted in response and tightened his grip, finally motivated to return her kiss. His hands wandered to her bottom to cup her and she gasped a breath as desire and fear mixed poorly in her gut. This may not be as easy as she thought it was going to be. Reminding herself of where she was and who she was with, Mary tried to relax into Raph as his kisses became more heated.

He murmured endearments against her lips as his kisses moved to her jaw and neck, and Mary concentrated on the feel of his back and waist. Her hands were free. Free to move and roam and…his hand was in her hair.

Mary stiffened and pushed at him gently. Raph let go of her and pressed himself back against the door. Mary saw uncertainty mixed with disappointment in his eyes, but she didn't want to back down yet and needed to keep him from doubting her intentions.

"C'mon, let's go to the couch," she purred, taking his hand and leading him down the steps into the living room. She had to tug again to persuade him, but then he followed her.

Mary took a deep breath and pulled her shirt over her head, watching Raph gaze at her. He looked hungry and she was satisfied. Stepping into her, he ran his hands over her stomach and up to her shoulders and she closed her eyes with the tightness in her chest. That wasn't the response she was supposed to have. No, concentrate, she told herself. This is Raph, this is okay…this is what I want.

"Don't grab my hair," she whispered as he again pulled her into him.

"Mmmhmm," he responded, bringing his lips to hers again as they were pressed together. The skin on skin contact felt nice, but when the button of his jeans rubbed against her stomach Mary couldn't swallow the whimper. The material was rough and she swallowed to push down the now rising panic. He was holding on too tight, and his kisses to her neck became nips. She pushed at him again.

"Mary," Raph rumbled, loosening his grip but not letting go. "I think maybe you are not ready for this. I don't want to scare you, and I'm starting to not know how to touch you."

Mary forced her shoulders to relax, staring at the pulse in Raph's neck as she breathed deeply to reorient. Without looking at him, she leaned in and ran her fingers through his hair, bringing her lips to his ear.

"You're doing fine and I'm all right, Raph. Just a bit jumpy. It's fine." She kissed his ear then nibbled on his earlobe, something she knew would spark his desire. The little fires of panic and fear were slowly burning, but Mary ignored them and tried to feel the tingles of desire and want that she remembered from her dreams. Surely they would be there as things progressed.

Raph groaned as she nuzzled and suckled his neck and ear, slowly backing her towards the couch as his breathing increased. The woman drove him crazy. Mary's knees hit the couch and she allowed Raph to lower her onto the cushions, laying back on the pillows with some trepidation.

It was suddenly different in this position. Now she was no longer in control and the man above her climbing onto the couch became slightly threatening. She closed her eyes, hoping the lack of visual input would allow her to focus more on the sensations that were pleasant. His hands smoothing over her arms and shoulders softly, his knee next to her thigh; gentle and slow. He lowered his weight onto her and the small flames of dread and anxiety flared to life, igniting her panic. She was trapped and pinned, and bucked up against him reflexively.

Raph responded by pushing his hips into hers and cradling her head with both hands, fingers in her hair as he laid fully on her, mistaking her attempt to escape as a need to escalate the contact. His teeth lightly scraped her collarbone and Mary was lost.

In a flurry of motion she pushed at him while yelling, trying to rise also, and they both fell backwards into the coffee table with Mary rolling away as the wooden structure collapsed. Scraping her arm and ribs on an exposed, broken piece of table leg, she scrabbled backwards until her back hit the wall. Hands gripping the carpet, she panted and tried to calm herself down. Her tenuous grip on rationality in danger of snapping.

Raph sat, stunned, near the couch. He had never seen her act like that; had never felt the full strength of the woman applied to him. He stared at her as she tried to pull herself together, both wanting to comfort her but slightly afraid of her. Matching her silence, he moved to sit on the couch and wait. Finally, her eyes opened and she glanced around the room until she found him.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. "I didn't know I was going to…" her voice cut out and he could see her struggling with emotions.

"I'm sorry too," he replied softly. "I shouldn't have done this with you."

"Just give me a few minutes. I think if I just take a few minutes to gather my wits I'll be okay."

Raph realized she was thinking about continuing where they had left off. He shook his head. "No, Mary. We can't do this. I can't do this. I can't watch you flinch and jump when I touch you. When my touch makes you think of other touches…I can't do that. I think of what they did to you and I can't…" he struggled for words.

"Can't what, Raph?" she urged, afraid of his answer. She felt vulnerable now, shirtless and on the floor. Wrapping her arms around her torso, Mary pulled her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. She watched him.

He ran his fingers through his hair as he wrestled with his own emotions. "I can't take little baby steps. I'm sorry, Mary, but watching you try to tolerate me is killing me. I don't want to do this with you. Not now, and I don't know when we can." He looked at her with tears in his eyes.

Unwanted. That's all she heard. He didn't want her because of what she had become. Because of what they had done. She pushed herself up the wall and rushed over to grab her shirt. Pulling it over her head, Mary quickly searched through the shards of wood for her keys and headed to the door. Raph's pleas fell on deaf ears, and as he reached out to touch her shoulder she whirled on him, smacking his hand away.

There was nothing she could say, and as her emotional control began to give way, Mary just pulled open the door and stormed out into the night. Raph thought to give chase for a moment, then realized there would be no soothing her; no way to placate or make things right. As the taillights from her car faded down the street, Raph slowly closed the door with a pained sigh.

* * *

Marshall gave her twenty five minutes to call him back, then he was up and dialing her number as he pulled his jeans on. Four rings to voice mail and he had to make a choice. Assume she had gone back to sleep and didn't need him to intervene, or imagine scenarios where she cowered in the corner too afraid to move to retrieve her phone. The second choice spurred him to throw a shirt on also and splash some water on his face as he prepared to go over to her house. Mountain to Mohammed, or something like that, he thought. Deciding to test his theory, he rang her two more times in succession. Even a sleeping Mary would respond to the continuous ringing and repeat calls. Nothing. Muttering in frustration, he grabbed his keys and weapon and headed out the door.

The house was not only dark and quiet, but there were no cars in the driveway. The oily tendrils of fear began to crawl into his gut as he turned into the driveway. No one home. No Mary, and either one or both of her family members were also absent. Maybe there was an emergency and she had to take her mother or sister to the hospital; calling him to let him know where she was going. No, she would've answered her phone in that case.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered as he strode up the walk and pulled out his key.

The house was empty and there was only one set of dishes in the sink with a single glass on the counter. Marshall realized Mary had been the only one home all night and he was even more concerned. She had called because she needed him, he was sure of it now, and he had missed it. Guilt now rode the fear, and he checked the drawer of the foyer table to see her weapon, badge and purse. Wherever she had gone, she hadn't felt as though she'd need protection, clout or money. That ruled out the bars. It didn't rule out the office, though.

As he drove downtown, Marshall still felt as though he was chasing his own tail. Even if she decided to seek refuge behind her desk, why didn't she answer her damn phone? She knew better than to deliberately ignore him; knew it would result in him just physically tracking her down. God help him, he had tried to do just that to her while he was on a date once. Surprised was a mild term to describe his date's expression when an angry Mary showed up to see what the hell he was doing. No, there was a reason his calls were still being unanswered. Marshall had tried a text also. Asking her to just let him know if she wanted to be left alone. Silence.

No Probe in the parking lot, and all the lights in the office were off. She wasn't here either. Marshall beat on the steering wheel with both hands, then took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. He wanted to tell himself she was fine and just off enjoying the night sky somewhere, but his gut had been right too many times over the years to discount the gnawing warnings it was broadcasting now. He had to think. If she felt she needed to escape, where would she go? The ball player.

The speed limit was a guideline for less skilled drivers as Marshall raced northward to Raph's apartment. Slowing as he turned onto the side streets, he scanned the cars in the street with a sigh. He didn't see the purple piece of crap, and then noted the lights in Raph's apartment were dark. No Mary. He was relieved on one hand, but the worry level cranked up on the other as he was running out of places to look.

* * *

She didn't know where she was driving; just away from Raph and her humiliation. Why did she think she was ready for that? What idiocy drove her to push herself into a situation that only hours before had provoked terror when she dreamt of it? Those damn dreams. Mary beat her fist against the steering wheel in frustration and anger. Why could the touches from a man in her dreams incite aches she had nearly forgotten when the touches from a man she knew cause panic? There was no sense to it, and Mary felt tears roll down her cheeks as she just didn't know what to think anymore. Feeling her chest tighten with the overpowering emotion, she looked for a place to pull over.

A small park sufficed, and she exited the car at a stumble. Sinking onto the damp ground, Mary began to sob as the events of the last twenty four hours overwhelmed her. The recall of rape and torture, the fight with Marshall, the panic and nightmares, and then the ultimate rejection. She was in a cage, running this way and that, but unable to think her way into any state of mind other than dejected isolation. Laying on her back and pulling out clumps of grass, Mary let the tears run into her hair as she contemplated the heavens.

Stories of life and death, wars and heroes were laid out in the stars, according to her partner. Hunters. Sisters. Queens. Beasts. All frozen in time by myth and legend. Stuck. As was she. Mary feared remaining trapped in her past, but she was equally loathe to think about the future. She had to move past this point in order to survive as she wanted to be, otherwise she would languish here as she was today.

What she had before didn't provide comfort from the beasts that drove her to this patch of grass. She wasn't able to soothe herself, and the person she had run to only intensified the deterioration. As the chill of the night and the dampness of the soil began to penetrate her clothes, Mary thought of something Melanie had said during their second session.

_You can't do this alone. Find the one person who will always catch you when you fall, and let them._

"_Well, hell,"_ she thought, _"I'm already on the ground. Can't fall much further."_

* * *

Marshall was thinking about knocking on Raphael's door to see if Mary had been by at all when his cell rang. A glance at the screen had him exhaling in thanks.

"Where are you?" he demanded; probably more forcefully than he should've.

There was a pause before she answered quietly, "Lost."

He immediately knew she was not talking about her physical location. Some deeper wayfinding had gone awry and she was reaching out to him to lead her in the right direction. He remembered a snippet of conversation and a promise; _I won't let you lose yourself._

"I can help you find the way home," he stated softly, starting the car. There was only one place to go.

Mary sat on the hood of the car, the heat of the engine nearly faded. The crickets were now silent, and she could hear the first greetings of the birds as the horizon lightened. She smiled slightly as she realized the man on the phone had answered as the sun began to rise. He'd appreciate that sappiness.

"I need you," she stated hoarsely, something she had never admitted before.

Marshall's heart turned over. "Come home, Mary. I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

***** Well, I'm relieved!! Although she's a mess, she at least didn't go through with anything entirely stupid. who's ready for some Marshall comfort??! Stay tuned...oh, and of course, REVIEW!! *****


	33. Comforting

***** Finally at Marshall's house. What will she say? What will he say? What will they do? As my brother says to annoy me to no end: Just enjoy! *****

* * *

"_**Sometimes it's the smallest decisions that can change your life forever.**_"

**– Keri Russell**

"_**One **__**kiss**__** breaches the distance between friendship and love**_"

* * *

It was going to be one of those days that started out warm and pleasant, but by mid afternoon you were longing for the coolness of the night you cursed only hours before. The breeze through the windows of the car carried the scents of sage and dust; desert cologne. Mary welcomed the warmth of the sun's first rays on her face as she turned onto Marshall's street, eyelids beginning to droop with exhaustion. Almost home.

He was sitting on the porch as she pulled into the driveway, rising before the car gave off the first of its series of death rattles as Mary shut off the engine. Her door was opened, and before she could think of a protest, Marshall had reached across to unbuckle her seatbelt and draw her out of the seat. He wrapped her in a tight embrace and Mary just leaned into him with a shuddering sigh, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

"You scared me," he whispered into her hair. "It was too much like the day you disappeared."

"I'm sorry," she whispered back, too tired to say anything more.

Seeing her car come around the corner made him weak with relief, but it wasn't until he had her in his arms that he could begin to relax. Holding her now, Marshall realized her clothes and hair were slightly damp and she was shivering. He switched his grip to her shoulders and pulled back to look her over. Eyes reddened and face pale with fatigue, he could see the tear tracks down her cheeks and over her temples. Her hair was disheveled with small pieces of grass stuck in it, and she had grass stains on her knees. His gaze was drawn to the long scratch on her forearm and her dirty hands. Whatever she had been up to, it had kicked her ass and sent her home to mama.

Putting his arm around her shoulders, Marshall coaxed her away from the car and towards the house. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up. You look rode hard and put away wet."

Mary shuddered with the 'rode hard' reference. She didn't want to think about the disastrous attempt at that activity last night. She just wanted to sleep.

"Just put me on the couch, Marshall. I'm done for the night," she muttered as they crossed the threshold.

"Technically, it's morning," he began, happy to see her flip him a brief glare. "And I don't want grass and…what do you have all over you?...wood?...on my couch."

Stepping away from her slightly, Marshall began to gently brush away the detritus in her tangled locks and off of her shirt. For reasons unknown, the gesture caused tears to form in Mary's eyes. She tried to turn away from his ministrations, but he tsked at her and continued to pick off the larger pieces. His hand brushed along her side and she winced, pulling back suddenly.

He wanted so badly to ask her what had happened. What had caused her such angst and physically wrestled her into this state? But he could tell by her downcast eyes and monotone statements that she was in no mood to talk. Rather than chance her anger and tempt her to leave, he would keep his silence for now. Except 'now' ended with the wince.

"You're hurt."

Mary shook her head dismissively, "No. Just a scratch, I think."

He held her arm up where she could see it. "Like this one?"

Mary looked at the wound on her arm with confusion. "Oh. I didn't see that. That must've happened at…" she cut herself off, lips pressed together.

Marshall tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, "At…where?"

"How about I don't have to talk about it until after I get some sleep. I'm falling over, Marshall." Mary had no energy to ride the emotional rollercoaster again, probably wouldn't be able to keep her stomach from rebelling either.

"You need a hot shower, and these scratches need attention," he countered, unwilling to let her completely off the hook.

Mary pushed at him with one arm as she staggered towards the bathroom. "Fine. I'll be out in a few. You can play Dr. Gonzo and then I get to sleep."

The hot shower was heaven; warmth creeping back into her bones and washing the stiffness from her limbs. Mary rolled her head on her neck to loosen muscles, the slight sting from the water on her side finally drawing her gaze. Wrinkling her nose, she knew Marshall wasn't going to be happy with the faint bruise and scratches. Her palms were also slightly sore, having picked up a few splinters when she crawled through the shattered wood. Shaking her head, she sadly wondered at the fact that she was again tallying injuries while hiding in the shower. She really needed to chuck this broken record of self denial and just let the man in the other room take care of her for a while. That's why she came over here in the first place.

"Just take the first step, Mary," her whisper blended into the hiss of the shower. "He'll do the rest."

She dried off and wandered into the guest room to find he had left pajamas and clean underwear out for her. Some of her things that she had either left behind or he had kept; both possibilities equally as likely. Clean and dry, Mary ventured out to the living room for her first aid session.

* * *

"If this even stings a little you'll be wearing those tweezers in your nostrils," Mary threatened as Marshall prepared to pluck the splinters out of her palms.

"For someone who jumps off buildings to tackle fugitives, your aversion to pain is puzzling," he drawled, adjusting the desk lamp so he could see her hands well.

"That's different," Mary whined, cringing as he aimed at a sliver. "Hurting myself isn't the same as knowing other people are going to do it. Ow!" She jerked her hand away as he successfully retrieved a larger splinter.

"'Anticipation of pain to heart, body or soul is more than mere agony. It is the embodiment of all nightmares and terrors. Looming over us as we cringe in the dark'," Marshall quoted, firmly holding her other hand as he eyed two angry looking slivers.

Mary was still as he pulled the two offending objects quickly from her skin. Smiling, he looked up at her in triumph. She stared at the coffee table with a look of pain on her face, oblivious to him. He gently encircled her wrist with his hand.

"Mare?"

"That's exactly what it's like," she murmured. "Lurking just out of sight until you close your eyes or turn your head. Waiting. Praying. You know they're coming and there's nothing you can do." She shivered while lost in her own memories.

"The nightmares?" he asked quietly.

Mary's eyes slid over to meet his. "And before."

He hadn't meant to dig up terror from that basement; hadn't meant for her mind to return to that dark place. It was the first time she had admitted to being afraid down there and it tore at him. He was sure he had never seen Mary afraid, never saw her cower or back down because of fear. Closing his eyes, Marshall tried to banish the images shifting behind his eyes; his partner trapped and begging.

"Hey," she called him back, placing her hand on his cheek. "Don't go there. Stay here with me."

That she would comfort him seemed ludicrous. Here she sat again wounded and scared for reasons unknown, and she reached out to catch him before he could slip.

"You know I would never hurt you, don't you?" he asked, unsure as to where the question came from, but needing her to know.

Mary swallowed as his question reached deep into her. "That's the only thing I'm sure of right now."

Marshall looked at her as though he was going to say something, checked himself , took a deep breath and smiled slightly, "Well then, let's take a look at your side."

Mary was relieved as he lightened the mood, then reflexively blocked his hand as he reached for the hem of her shirt. "Put a lid on that, Mr. Touchy Feely. It's just a scratch and I cleaned it in the shower."

Marshall stared at her, slowly raising an eyebrow. Mary held out for a minute longer than he thought she would.

With a long, suffering sigh, she pulled up her shirt so he could assess the injury. "See," she griped, "no gaping wound."

Marshall sucked air through his teeth as he reached out to carefully stroke the unmarred flesh next to the scrapes. He wondered how the hell she had done this to herself; hoped to hell no one had done it to her.

"Mary, what happened?" He had to ask now.

Mary had seen the flash of fierceness in his eyes and knew what he was thinking. She knew she couldn't tell the story yet, even thinking about it caused her chest to constrict, but it wouldn't be fair to leave him worried. She bit her lips as she decided what to say.

"I was stupid." A summation of the last day.

He knew there was a couple of hours and more than a few tears hidden in that statement. There were questions he wanted to ask…needed to ask…but as he watched her struggle to maintain her composure while sitting next to him he just felt overwhelmingly tired. Packing up the first aid supplies, Marshall stood and held out his hand.

There was a moment of deliberation in her eyes, then a glint of hope as she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

"Boots off and hats up, Cowgirl. Time to hit the hay."

Mary had to smile at the saying, wondering if he made it up. She let him lead her to the bedroom, prod her into the bed and scooted over to the other side while he crawled in beside her. Groaning as her head sunk into the pillow, Mary was surprised when her partner's fingers laced through her own. She looked over to find him staring at her with a look that made her belly flutter slightly.

"Keep you from getting away," he rumbled, grinning.

A shift and roll brought her a foot closer to him, their eyes at the same level. "I don't want to get away," she stated softly. "I'd like to stick around for a while."

Marshall sensed a small shift in their relationship. As though lock tumblers that had always been slightly off center suddenly fell into their slots. Before he could fully analyze it, as she had done a number of weeks before, Mary scooted in and placed a kiss on his lips. Quickly tucking her head, she settled in next to him. Heart pounding, but a small smile on her face. His arms came around her a few minutes later, and he pulled her to him so that her head rested on his chest.

For the third time that day, someone had their hands in her hair. Mary purred and closed her eyes as the soothing strokes of his fingers lulled her to sleep.

* * *

***** Yes for the comforting?? You liked? This chapter fought with me (and roar) tooth and nail. I can only hope it came out to your high expectations!! Please REVIEW!! *****


	34. Confusing

***** A talk, it is a comin'! Things don't quite go the way either of them planned. A new little can of worms. *****

* * *

"_**Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.**__**" **_

– _**Maria Robinson**_

"_**You can close your eyes to the things you do not want to see, but you cannot close your heart to the things you do not want to feel.**__**" **_

_**-- anonymous**_

* * *

Mary hadn't had this sense of calmness in a long time; the desire to just continue in the exact present state she was in. Nothing from the past intruded, and there was no need to look to the future at this moment. The soft pillow under her cheek, blankets settled onto her body just so; muscles and joints content without protest. The room was dim as the shades were pulled, but the rays of sunshine that peeked around the edges had dust motes in them that danced as the ceiling fan whirred.

A spot of that light landed on Marshall's shoulder, and Mary studied the partially illuminated man. He faced away from her, muscles subtly sliding under his shirt with each breath; slow and deep. His hair stuck up at odd angles from his head, tapering down to downy wisps at the nape of his neck. As if his mind knew she was staring, Marshall suddenly snorted-snored and one hand moved to scratch the back of his neck as he shifted slightly and lapsed back into sleep. A mumble transitioned to a sigh and he began to snore softly.

Mary had only ever watched a man sleep once before, and that was for pure self preservation. This was worlds apart. This was for the pleasure of watching. She noted the width of Marshall's shoulders and again realized he was a large man. Because of his leanness and her height, Mary could sometimes forget that he outweighed her and towered over many others. He never used his size to intimidate, always letting her take that role instead of showing his hand. Nearly six inches taller than she, his hand could wrap easily around her forearm, and when he held her she was fully enveloped. Power in the package also. Mary remembered how easily he wrapped her up at the office, how easily he always managed to subdue her once he set his mind to it. "_A dangerous man"_, she mused, lips curling into a smile at the thought.

"I can feel you looking at me," Marshall rumbled.

Mary blushed for some reason. "No you can't," she argued. "You just know I'm awake because of my breathing."

Marshall rolled over and regarded the woman on the other side of the bed. She looked content; satisfied for some reason, but yet a bit shy. The hint of color on her cheeks had him curious.

"What were you thinking about?" he asked with a grin.

Mary was only caught for a moment. "Pancakes."

Marshall knew a distraction technique when he heard one. "Hmmm, pancakes? It's well past breakfast time, you know."

"And when have you ever known me to limit breakfast food to the morning hours?" Mary felt as though she was on more solid ground now.

He chuckled, "I've never known you to limit food in any way, shape or form."

Mary narrowed her eyes then threw back the covers to rise as she warned him. "That better not be some thinly veiled crack at my weight, numbnuts."

Marshall watched his partner's very shapely butt walk towards the restroom. "When have you known me to have a deathwish?"

Mary stepped into the bathroom with a smile. The banter had saved her from having to discuss the early morning activities and she knew her partner would now make breakfast. A win-win scenario in her mind.

"Stop looking at my ass," she called as she shut the door, hearing him laugh through the panel.

* * *

Mary sat back, stomach full of pancakes and bacon, and sighed in gastronomical bliss, "Damn, Mann, I can't believe you haven't snagged a woman yet when you can cook like that."

"_I got you,"_ he thought with a grin. Toasting her with his orange juice, he offered a more appropriate response, "They all try to outcook me. You're the only one who just eats and appreciates. Of course, you're the only one who doesn't offer to clean up, either."

Mary was comfortable in her role and smiled with a shrug, "Nice hint, but why ruin a good thing?"

Marshall just shook his head as he cleared the dishes. Once at the safety of the sink, he broached the as yet unspoken topic of the day.

"I have a couch, some chairs—inside or out…where's best for talking?"

"Could we just skip to dinner?" she asked with a grimace.

"Nope."

"Have to, huh?"

"Yep."

Mary ran her fingers through her hair with a groan. "Couch, but I need more coffee."

Settling down onto opposite sides of the couch, Mary tucked her feet under her and held the coffee cup in both hands. Marshall stretched out with his feet on the coffee table. She was silent for a few minutes, staring at the swirling liquid in her cup.

"Wow," she finally uttered. "I don't really know where to start."

"How about why you called me at three a.m.?" he suggested.

Mary nodded and proceeded to tell him about the panic attacks and nightmares. She didn't tell him about the last dream, just told him she had changed her mind about coming over.

"Why?" he asked.

Mary chewed on her lip while she chose her words, "I've been having some…other…feelings emerge, and I thought maybe I should be acting on them. That I needed to move forward with some things." It sounded lame even to her ears.

Marshall prodded, "Feelings about?"

"Jesus, Marshall. Sex. My hormones seem to have resurfaced." Mary was embarrassed and curled into a tighter ball.

Seeing her discomfort, Marshall tried to keep his demeanor as casual as possible while his gut tightened uncomfortably. He had a good idea what 'acting on them' was going to be, but didn't want to make assumptions.

"Not unexpected, I guess. So what happened?"

Mary watched him carefully with her next words, "I went to Raph's."

Marshall's jaw clenched and he gripped his coffee mug tightly. Mary saw the flash of anger in his eyes as they slid away to gaze at the far wall. He was fighting control.

She became defensive, "I figured my body was telling me it was time to take the plunge, you know? Get back in the game. You can't tell me it was a totally unreasonable assumption."

He could only repeat himself; too angry to formulate new questions, "What happened?"

Mary tried to dismiss him with a grimace and huffed, "Nothing happened. I didn't get very far in my little experiment. Threw a temper tantrum and drove around until the sun came up. Called you."

Giving her a hard look, Marshall set his feet on the ground. "Don't try to bullshit me, Mary. It was fairly apparent that something significant happened. If you don't want to tell me, fine. I'll just get the story out of Ramirez." The threat hung in the air.

Marshall already had some ideas about what he wanted to do to Mary's boytoy. He didn't know how she had gotten her injuries, but he knew with certainty it had happened inside the man's house. He needed more information to keep him from drawing all the wrong conclusions.

"You will not," she stated, jaw set. "I went over there with intent to start something. I pushed him into it without knowing that I wasn't going to be able to handle it. It got a little crazy, things were said and I left." Her anger was fading as the details of the event came into focus, triggering darker emotions of betrayal and rejection.

"Still imagining scenarios that demand an official visit, Mary. Help me out here." Marshall wasn't backing down.

"Christ, Marshall," she hissed, upset now. "I don't want to slog through all the fucking details again."

"Did you have sex?" he started to just tick off the important questions for her. "Did he force you to have sex? Did you fight with him? Did he give you those injuries? Did you kill him?"

"No. No. Kind of. Not really. No." she answered as he was asking.

"Not really?" Marshall picked up on that one.

Mary seemed to just sag into the couch cushions, now resigned to telling the story. "I panicked when we got to the couch. I had to stop twice before that already to…try not to think, so I was already on edge. It got too heated and I tossed him onto the coffee table. Ended up rolling onto it myself and it broke. Thus the scratches and splinters, I guess." Her voice caught at the end.

He felt marginally better. "So then he got mad and you had a fight?" Pure supposition on his part.

Mary just shook her head, emotions close to the surface and unwilling to lose control. Marshall waited, and she used the silence to try to regroup. "He didn't get mad. He…" She beat her own fist on her leg a few times in frustration.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, feeling tears gather and desperately willing them away.

Marshall watched her fight with herself. The expressions flickering across her face conveying anger, fear, sadness. He just knew he had to get her to tell him the story. There would be something important that he needed to know. Scooting over so he sat beside her, Marshall took her coffee cup and placed it on the table. He didn't touch her otherwise, just made his presence available.

His ministrations and proximity allowed her to rant. "It's not bad enough that my nightmares are interrupted by wet dreams now, oh no. I have to force myself to kiss my boyfriend, and when he puts his hands on me I fight down the nausea. It was great in the dream, not so good in reality. He's trying to do what I want him to, but everytime he relaxes and starts to get into it, I freak out. Have to take a breather. So now I'm a giant cock tease and when he's finally busting a move I go ape shit on him and throw him across the room. I don't blame him for not wanting me."

Marshall was as tense as she was, feeding off of her emotions. "Mary," he began.

"No, Marshall," she interrupted, knowing he would try to placate her. "That's what he said. He said he didn't want to touch me or be with me. Not after what happened to me. That taking baby steps wasn't what he wanted." Saying the words released some valve and Mary's tears began to fall. She wiped at them angrily.

His chest ached for her. Remembering their conversation by his SUV the night her mother had told Raph about the rape, Marshall knew Mary's fear of being rejected. Of no longer being desirable. Raphael had given it ugly truth. Marshall suspected the man had not used those exact words, and had even tried to explain himself, but Mary's mind would've taken any explanation as a personal insult.

"He doesn't understand, Mary," Marshall explained gently. "Doesn't know what you went through…doesn't know you. He's thinking about him, not you."

Mary rubbed her forehead with both palms, clearly distressed. "So this is what happens with the next guy, and the next? I never know if I'm going to be able to get naked with a guy without flipping out? And when I do they kick my ass to the curb? Jesus, you all are just a piece of work. Don't want the damaged goods, do you?" She was angry now, lashing out.

He hated that term. Hated knowing she would ever consider herself anything but whole, or that she would be rejected for who she was. That her moments of weakness or hesitation would be grounds for eviction without thought to kindness or compassion.

"What about you?" Mary asked suddenly, startling Marshall out of his thoughts. "Would you want me?"

Mary took his face in her hands as he turned to her questioningly. "Mary, what?" he asked, then sucked in a breath as she placed her lips on his. A soft and lingering kiss. Marshall felt his loins tightened as she shifted position and straddled his lap while she ended the kiss. His hands went reflexively to her hips.

Mary didn't think about her actions. Her frustration led to a desperate attempt to prove herself wrong. Would her own partner even reject her? As she tasted his lips she knew this time was different than all those times with Raph. Her body responded with desire, not fear, and she found herself sitting astride him as she pulled back, speechless. The want in his eyes was unmistakable. Boldly, not knowing what she expected, Mary leaned forward to again cover his lips with her own.

Marshall was sure the surprise on her face was matched by his own. His wits scattered to the winds, he had not formulated a response before she was kissing him again. Mary. In his lap and eliciting reactions from his body that were beyond his control. Her tongue flicked against his lips and her hands slid down to his chest. His hands wandered to her ribs and he barely refrained from pulling her against him. This woman needed to be treated with utmost care. He doubted she even knew what she was offering.

By some Herculean force of will, Marshall moved his hands to grasp her wrists, gently removed her hands from his chest and pushed her back. She whimpered with the broken kiss and he had to close his eyes to regain control. Taking a deep breath, he watched her as he called her name.

Mary sat with her hands wrapped in his, reason returning as her eyes opened when she heard her name. They stared at each other for a long moment, breaths loud in the otherwise silent room. He had pushed her away.

She suddenly struggled to free herself and he let her go, watching as she stood at the end of the couch with her arms crossed; staring at the wall behind him.

"I guess that answers my question," she hoarsely stated, voice raw with hurt.

* * *

*****Mary...you are a dunderhead! Marshall is going to have to fix this quick! Get on it, Mann :) A little M/M action for those who asked nicely! Please, please, REVIEW! *****


	35. Surrendering

***** Marshall must talk fast here. She's ready to bolt. Maybe it's time for some soul searching by both parties? *****

* * *

"_**Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth **__**fighting**__** for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more.**__**"**_

– _**Erica Jong**_

"_**Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow, too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind **__**relief**__**?**__**"**_

– _**William Blake**_

* * *

Mary's face began to crumple and she angrily turned towards the front door. Her intent to leave was clear and Marshall was off the couch before she could take two steps. There was no way he was letting her walk out of his house thinking that he had rejected her. Slipping by her, he reached the door and turned to face her just as she was ready to grab the knob.

Mary was furious at his effort to stop her. She slapped his chest with both hands. "Get out of my fucking way!" she snarled.

"Mary," he pleaded, letting her hit him, "You're not seeing things straight. I want you to listen to me." She threw an actual punch and he grabbed the offending wrist in defense.

Twisting her arm from his grasp, Mary stepped back to glare at him. To her horror, she felt tears begin to slip down her cheeks. Embarrassment, anger and betrayal all tangled together in her gut, sabotaging her normal ability to control her emotions.

"Let me go, Marshall," she nearly yelled. "I have to get out of here. You can't make me stand here while you look at me after I've made a complete idiot of myself. Jesus, how much harder to you want to make this for me?"

Her distress was alarming and Marshall tried to make himself very clear, "I didn't push you away because I don't want you. That's not why I stopped you."

"Bullshit," she snapped. "You just don't want me to leave and go find another guy to climb on. It doesn't matter that you don't want me climbing on you, it's just easier to keep an eye on me if I'm under your roof. It must be fucking killing you to sleep next to me." Nasty was always her refuge when she felt trapped.

"Stop it," he spoke softly; a command that had her swallowing her next insult.

Marshall reached out to grasp her arms and slowly draw her towards him. Mary wouldn't look at him and tried to pull away, but he continued his efforts until she had to put both palms on his chest to keep them separated.

"Marshall, please," she whispered. "I can't fight you, and I just want to go." The last word ended on a sob. Mary pressed her lips together as she stared at her partner's chest; determined to hang on to that thinnest shred of control.

She was ripping his heart apart. He knew she thought he was forcing her to stand in the spotlight of humiliation; exposed to him and God and all the demons that had chased her from the moment her dignity lay on the floor of that basement.

"Mary, look at me," he cajoled. She stubbornly refused to raise her eyes and shook her head slightly with a shuddering breath. Marshall knew he had his work cut out for him and just began to talk, never releasing her.

"You're right. I don't want you going out to climb on another guy. I do want you here, with me. But it's not because it's easier for me to keep an eye on you or more convenient. I want you here because if you truly feel as though you have to offer yourself to someone, then I want it to be me. Someone who would be careful with you. Who you wouldn't feel like you had to wash off after you were done." The words were hard to say, but Marshall wanted her to know he would meet her need; to prove to herself that she could be desired.

He would throw himself on his own sword for her, she thought with a sinking heart. Make sure she was safe even if it meant violating his own principles and overriding his own wants. Mary knew it was hard for him to make the offer; could hear the pain in his voice.

"No, Marshall. I won't do that to you. I didn't mean to make you think you needed to take that role. You shouldn't be forced to do something you don't want to do any more than I should be."

Marshall stared at the top of her head in painful amazement. She truly thought that he didn't want her. A glorious woman who had been made to believe she was less than desirable by the acts of cowards and the words of one man who didn't know any better. He didn't know whether to shout in rage or cry in despair, but he knew she could not continue to doubt herself…to doubt him.

His silence was unsettling, and Mary slowly raised her eyes to look at him; wondering what he was thinking. The depth of feeling in his gaze captured her. Marshall slid his hands up to lightly rest his fingers on her jaw.

"Can you tell me you honestly think that I don't want you?" he asked, staring at her with an intensity she felt in her bones. "That having you share my bed is anything but pleasurable? I want you more than you could possibly know, and that might not be the right thing to say, but it's something you need to hear."

Mary would have to be blind and deaf to miss the truth in his gaze and utter sincerity in his voice. Butterflies danced in her stomach, from delight or trepidation she couldn't be sure. "Why did you push me away, Marshall?" she finally asked.

He chose his words carefully, hands resting on her shoulders. "I care about you. I know you desperately want to feel whole again…to regain all the parts of you that you think you lost. But it would kill me to think that by taking what you offered I could possibly hurt you, and that I would feel as though I had just been…in the right place at the right time. Like I said, I will play that role if you need me too, but I wanted you to know how I feel." She stared at him with a look of confusion, as though what he said hadn't quite made sense and she was trying to turn it over like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.

Mary's mind played with his words until they had lined up in unexpected patterns. Marshall cared for her as more than just a friend and partner. His feelings ran deeper than that, and her actions had forced his hand. Her floundering journey back to self looped around to set her before him in a way that demanded honesty.

Her fingers moved restlessly on his shirt as she dropped her eyes to stare at the slightly rumpled fabric. There was never an ounce of fear with this man. Not the first night or any after. Never worried about his intentions; his hands always comforting, even in restraint. She was comfortable next to him, in his bed…in his lap.

"I didn't dream about Raph," she quietly stated, breaking the silence of the room. She looked up at him again, determined to follow through. She had to give him this much. "I dreamt about you. That's why I couldn't come here."

He swallowed with nervousness. Her statement sent his heart flying, but it stuttered and began to fall as he considered its meaning.

"Were you afraid of me?" Marshall looked confused and concerned.

"No, never," she was quick to reassure him. "But you know me, Marshall. Out of the gate at full speed before it's even open. I thought I was going to have to plow through. That it would be messy and hard. I didn't want to do that to you. Didn't want to take everything you had given me through this whole crap pile and toss it aside because I thought I needed to get my rocks off. You're worth more to me than that. A lot more."

Mary reached up to run her fingers down his cheek, smiling slightly at the stubble. It was rare to see him unshaven; gave him a roguish look that somehow delighted her. "I was anything but afraid when I was kissing you."

She stood on her tiptoes as she slid her hand around his neck and pulled him down and into her kiss. He made a little sound in his throat that spurred her to wrap the other arm around his waist and press against him. His initial start was quickly followed by his arms encircling her and holding her tightly. Lips tasted and teased, and Mary felt fully alive for the first time in a long time. Color flooded the gray and dreary landscape of her soul and she just wanted more. She drew her tongue along his lower lip and felt him shudder as his hands gripped her back reflexively.

Marshall's initial surprise at her lips meeting his was quickly turned to want and need. He leaned into her and reveled in the softness of her body pressed along his; her breath mixed with his own. He could drown in this woman. Just perish and never know anything but pleasure on the way down. Her moan jolted him back to the surface and he knew they needed to stop. He reluctantly turned his head and placed a kiss along her jawline as he drew her in and held her to his chest, breathing deeply to regain equilibrium.

"Marshall?" she whispered.

"You're not lost. You're right where you're supposed to be. With who you're supposed to be with. I know what happened to you, know how you suffered. I've watched you drag yourself through broken glass and more minefields than I could count to get to where you are. Raphael had no idea what you were giving him, Mary. I do. He said he couldn't take baby steps, but that's all I'm going to be able to take. Just a little at a time. And only as much as you're willing to give."

The words were murmured into her hair and Mary almost cried. This was a gentle man that she did not deserve. She would have to remember to keep him safe if they wandered down this road; make sure to neither leave him behind nor trod over the top of him. He would never be so remiss with her, she knew, always keeping her right by his side. Nodding into his chest, she agreed. Closing her eyes, she gave herself over to comfort.

"Can I stop blocking the door now?" Marshall asked after a few minutes. He somehow sensed Mary would need him to lighten the mood.

She chuckled against his chest. "You'll never have to worry about me bolting if you promise pancakes for all meals," she joked back, pulling away to rub at her face.

He kissed her on the nose before releasing her. "Can't make pancakes unless I have clean dishes. Shame really, I had a recipe for chocolate chip ones that I wanted to try out later."

Mary glared at him for moment before punching him in the arm and stalking into the kitchen.

"Ow," Marshall complained after she was out of earshot, smiling like an idiot.

* * *

***** Okay...who wants a Marshall? Oh, me! They both choose the road less traveled and we may get a peek into what lies ahead. Anyone up for an epilogue type chapter? I'll give out Marshalls for REVIEWS! *****


	36. Beginning

***** And the journey comes to an end, or a beginning, depends on your point of view. Mary has reached the light at the end of the tunnel, finally finding a semblence of self. Marshall is there beside her every step of the way, and we know that's where he'll stay. *****

***** I can't thank you all enough for reading, critiquing, exploring, ranting, offering and reviewing! It's been nothing but a fabulous time :) *****

***** Thanks to sfchemist for betaing my early chapters, and fantabulously special thanks to roar526 for being her! Couldn't have written the story without you! *****

* * *

"_**One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter.**__**" **_

– _**James Earl Jones**_

"_**Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a **__**lover**__**, everyone becomes a poet.**__**" **_

_**-- Plato**_

* * *

Melanie studied the man on the couch. He appeared relaxed, reading the back of one of her books he had plucked from the bookshelves while she entered a few last notes on her laptop before his session began. Over all, Melanie thought Marshall looked worlds better than he had the last time she saw him a week or so ago; rested and less tense. She knew from Mary that the partners were spending more time together through the last two months, Mary sleeping at Marshall's a few nights during the week and over the weekends. Mary never specifically said whether the two had discussed their mutual feelings for each other, but she suspected there had been progress in that direction; the affection they felt for one another clearly conveyed in their voices.

"So," the tall man drawled as he continued to read, "there can really be a lot of issues for these women?" He held the book up so she saw the title.

Melanie recognized a well known book chronicling the trials and tribulations of daughters with narcissistic mothers. "Seems to be. Self esteem problems, unclear identity issues, trouble with emotional bonds…there's less baggage with adults who lost their mothers at an early age."

Marshall was thinking about something as he ran his fingers around the binding of the book. "What if the girl also had a father walk out on her at a young age?"

She looked at him with a half smile, knowing where his mind had gone. "She would be a little lost most of the time. Always looking for something she never had, but not able to recognize it when it stood right in front of her. They're hard to love. Always pushing back so they won't get hurt when someone inevitably leaves them. She'll either ask, or force, you to prove that you'll never leave her. You have to be willing to be tested again and again."

Marshall thought of the last time he had seen Mary. She had been in a waspish mood at the office; surly and sarcastic both to him and to Stan. Eleanor had gotten the silent treatment all day. Having spent two days accompanying Brandi to attorney visits, Mary had likely been bombarded with questions, tears and argument from her family with very few thanks. Her frazzled appearance belied the story she told of rest and relaxation the night before. He doubted she was sleeping and had asked her to stay with him for a night. Still stinging from the resultant verbal onslaught a few hours later, Marshall wondered if their fledgling relationship was already on the skids. Melanie's words now gave him pause, and hope.

"Weather the storm, as it were?" he asked with a small grin.

Melanie nodded. "I won't say it will be rainbows afterwards, but the air will be clear and the sun will shine as if it had never happened."

He smiled fully now, thoughts to seeing his partner later today. "I just try to keep my ass from getting struck by lightning."

* * *

Mary showed up at his house around ten that night, stomping by him to rummage through the kitchen cabinets until she produced a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Marshall watched her with an assessing eye. She was twitchy and volatile and he was starting to worry. He grabbed a glass for himself and quietly joined her at the counter. She gazed at the far wall while sipping the amber liquid, lost in her own mind as he waited.

"They're charging Brandi and taking the case to trial," she finally stated.

"I'm sorry, Mare," he offered. "I know you hoped they'd just plea bargain her. She'll be okay."

She snorted, then tossed back the remainder of the glass. "She'll be just fine. Thirty…sixty days in jail at the max with the piddly shit they're hanging on her. I'm not worried about that."

He could see the subtle change in her demeanor as she mentally approached the topic that had truly disturbed her; eyes downcast and one fingertip slowly spreading a drop of liquid into a pattern on the countertop.

Mary had told herself it wouldn't matter; that everyone who knew her was already aware of her ordeal and there wasn't a reason this action should affect her in any way. But she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it for three days. Anxiety levels were peaking and she had come to Marshall's to keep from falling off the edge of reason in her own home.

"My statement will become public record," she said slowly, jaw set in anger after her delivery.

"_Translation: public humiliation,"_ thought Marshall. He pressed his lips together and poured himself a glass of whiskey. There were a lot of trite platitudes he could offer that would make the situation no better and only piss her off. She didn't want to hear that it wasn't going to make a difference, because she knew it could. Not with him or with the other people in her life who cared about her, but it could be accessed by anyone searching for her or pulling her records for official business. Their personal information was kept under tight security, but a court document was not. Marshall decided to keep the conversation informational.

"Are they planning on using your circumstances as evidence during the drug trial?" he asked.

Mary shrugged, sliding her eyes over to glance at him briefly. "The ADA is saying no, it's strictly Russell and his mooks they're after, but you know lawyers. Any dirt is good dirt." She slammed back another glass and Marshall gently took the empty from her as she set it down. He could hear her stomach growl.

"You haven't eaten. That whiskey's going to go straight to your head and you'll be slobbering in about an hour."

She shot him a dirty look as he confiscated the bottle too. "That's the plan, Mr. Rogers. Oblivion before midnight." She turned to get a glass of water from the sink and then stood staring out the window into the back yard.

Marshall stepped up behind her and gently set his hands on her shoulders, slowly sliding them down to rest on her hips. He waited. Mary closed her eyes with his touch. He was always careful when he was behind her, the thoughtfulness in that gesture more powerful than he knew. She leaned back into him and drew his arms around her middle with her own hands. Resting her head on his collarbone, she tilted her face up to receive his kiss on her cheek.

"Food," he rumbled in her ear. Unable to resist another kiss, Marshall nuzzled her temple lightly and pressed her against him before releasing her and moving to the pantry. Moments like that carried him through days of verbal sparring and nasty arguments; windows of tenderness and vulnerability. He already learned she'd open them randomly and occasionally and if he didn't act quickly he'd either get his fingers pinched when they closed or end up beating his head on the glass.

Mary leaned a hip against the counter and watched her partner gather dinner items. "There's other kinds of sustenance, you know," she suggested slowly, wiggling her eyebrows.

He nearly fumbled the pasta. Their level of intimacy had started to teeter into R rated within the last few weeks. She had thrown herself into the therapy, and although issues were far from resolved, Marshall could tell her aversions to physical contact had decreased. Many images no longer inappropriately cross referenced to what should be safe and desirable. She wanted to be touched, wanted to touch him. More often than not, Mary set the boundaries and would cool them down before it went too far, but sometimes he was the voice of reason and initiator of cold showers.

Four nights ago as he found himself shirtless on the couch with her in his lap clad only in her bra and jeans, Marshall had a realization; there was no going back for him once they crossed that line. He would be completely committed. The problem was, he didn't know if she felt the same.

"Oh," he drawled as he set the ingredients on the counter, "I'm sure you'll be slobbering all over me soon enough if I don't get some food into you. I can wait." He was rewarded with an offended expression.

"I do not slobber on you, pervis," she protested. "And even if I did, you'd like it. You ramp up faster than a sixteen year old boy in a whorehouse." She loved that about him. It made her feel powerful in one way, irresistible in another.

"You just hope I don't get off that fast and leave you at the self service pump," Marshall teased. He was watching her and internally cheered with her blush.

She wasn't used to him being obviously crude and broke into a wide smile, "Jesus, Marshall!" Her cheeks burned, and Mary was pretty sure it wasn't due to the alcohol. Chuckling, she escaped the kitchen as more thoughts of Marshall's staying power were only going to further embarrass her. His laughter followed her into the other room, thoughts of statements and basements nowhere to be found.

Despite a full stomach, Mary still maneuvered him into the bedroom by midnight. She pulled him down onto the bed with her, a giggle escaping when he cursed at the quick action. She wasn't drunk, but her guard was down enough to embolden her. Mary rolled him onto his back and ran her hands up under his shirt as she kissed him. She loved the feel of his skin under her palms, chest hair a rougher contrast that made her groin ache. Her kiss deepened and Marshall responded with a groan while his hands cupped her bottom and drew her to him. Mary could only think of having more of him. She wanted all of him and any hesitation within her mind fled.

"I want you naked," she purred into his neck, her lips trailing along his pulse and up to his ear.

"Uh, God," he moaned, not only from her words but her mouth was on his neck and her hand was traveling down the front of his body to an obvious destination. Reason barely prevailed and his id loaded a clip to mow down the ego.

Grasping her wrist, Marshall rolled her off him and turned so they were facing each other. He continued to kiss her, his hand stroking her face and moving around her back to hold her.

"Marshall," she whispered, trying to figure out what happened but still wrapped up in need. "What are you doing?"

"We need to stop."

"Why?" she quietly pleaded, snuggling closer. "I don't want to. Really don't want to." She hoped it was clear.

"Neither do I, but we have to," he murmured, unable to completely resist her and briefly falling prey to another deep kiss. She slid a leg over his hip and rocked against him and he pulled his head back with a long sigh.

"I can't get enough of you, you know," he whispered as he gently untangled them and propped himself up on one elbow to see her face.

She looked confused and slightly hurt. "I'm offering you all of me here, Marshall. Freely and without reservation. What's the problem?" Though he had more than convinced her of his desire for her, some small part of her braced for rejection.

He felt like he was going to throw up. "There's something I have to tell you, and something I need you to think about." The anxiety in her eyes spurred him on, "I know how I feel about you, and I know what this is going to mean to me. I love you, Mary. Really love you, and I know if we end up naked on this bed I'm going to be yours. I have to know what you feel for me. Whether you love me or not won't change my decision to be here with you, but I need to know where to put my heart. Keep it with me or give it to you." He placed a kiss on her stunned face and slid off the bed, turning to face her before retreating to the bathroom, "You don't have to make a decision right now, but I want you to think about it before we take this last step."

She knew it was true, knew it before today, but hearing the words fall from his lips caused her brain to tumble all over itself in confusion. He had just given her a piece of himself that he couldn't take back and she had to concentrate on breathing for a minute. This was new. Unexplored territory that was frightening in its propensity for utter disaster. Mary knew how she felt, but she had never been asked to say the words before.

Marshall returned to the bed before she could organize her thoughts. "Marshall, I…"

He placed his fingers on her mouth with a smile, "Not tonight. Think with a clear head. Be sure either way. I'm not going anywhere. Now, get some pj's on and get your ass back into bed."

* * *

Mary had been on full, active duty for nearly eight weeks. Cleared a week after she found out about Brandi's trial; after she knew Marshall loved her. They hadn't talked about it since then, and he was seemingly comfortable with the status of their relationship. Mary didn't feel pressured to give him an answer, but until she could she was careful with him. Knowing you could break someone's heart with a careless act was nothing to be taken lightly. She didn't know why she didn't just say the words. Tell him how she felt. Melanie had told her to just give it time, like everything else. Mary was tired of hearing that answer.

"Heads up, Cowgirl," Marshall called as she exited the elevator, barely two steps into the office before he tossed her a vest.

"Dress up day?" she guessed with a furrowed brow.

"Round up," he replied, excited. "Stan's grabbing some warm bodies from downstairs. Got us some migrants from Salt Lake that need to go back home."

She automatically began the process of gearing up as she joined him near the lockers. "The great state of Utah can't send its own crowd control?"

"This crew is known to disappear every time the hometown constabulary mobilizes so they're trying to sneak up on them with us local folk. Likely a mole of some sort that they just haven't sniffed out yet."

"What's the plan?" she asked. He always had a plan.

"No plan," he shrugged. Using his hands and fingers like six shooters, he crouched into an exaggerated firing stance. "Shoot 'em up and drag 'em in wearing their boots."

Mary just stared at him incredulously. "Good Lord, you're a moron."

Jumping over to her, Marshall snagged her and pulled her to him with both hands on her ass. Kissing her roughly he then whispered in her ear, "But I'm your moron." Jumping away just as quickly he hummed while he finished his routine. The elevator dinged its arrival and Marshall called her out of her astonished state.

"Hey Mare," she looked at him and he winked. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!"

She was still bent over laughing as Stan and five other agents entered the office.

* * *

Mary cursed as the sweat ran down her back and she caught a glimpse of the hump she was chasing down. He slipped through the doorway of a dilapidated loading dock. Relaying her position quietly through the ear mike, she crept through the shadows in pursuit. The group of fugitives had scattered like cockroaches when they arrived, quicker than they expected and more skilled at navigating the warren of small warehouses and sheds near the tracks. Twelve agents and seven idiots. She narrowed her eyes with intent to reduce the latter number by one in a few minutes. Marshall and another agent were close enough to lend a hand if she needed it. Their prey weren't armed, so they could take their time.

She ducked her head into the open doorway to asses the interior and was dismayed to find it completely dark beyond five feet. "Son of a bitch," she hissed. Mary didn't want to give away her own position by turning on her shoulder light, but she would be blind momentarily as she moved into the darkness. Slipping in and immediately moving sideways along the wall, she submerged herself into the darkness while keeping the wall at her back and allowing her eyes to adjust. Movement to her right in the form of a faint shadow.

Grinning, Mary stepped quietly towards the figure when the bag came down over her head. She was whirled around and slammed against the wall, her weapon flying out of her hand as her arm went numb. Cursing, she shouted for help as she began to struggle. Adrenaline pumping, she was quick to inflict damage to the man behind her. They ended up falling into a stack of pallets, allowing her to free her head from the bag. Barely having a chance to take a deep breath, she caught movement to her left as the second man dove at her. Instinct, fear and pure superior fighting ability dictated her next actions and she had two disabled men lying amongst a broken pile of wood as Marshall and the other agent came skidding through the door.

He heard her shout and was moving before he could think. Marshall knew it was only a minute or two journey to the building she was in, but he felt like he was running through molasses. He heard a crash as he flew through the door, flashlights revealing his disheveled partner standing over two groaning men writhing on the floor. Impressive. Then he saw her face and stepped towards her quickly. She was scared to death.

"Mary?" he asked quietly, not wanting to draw the other agent's attention to her.

She shot him a look. "Let's cuff these fuckwits and get the hell out of here, Marshall."

Nodding, he quickly followed her instructions as she located her gun. They marched the men out and Mary put her hand on his arm. "Wait a minute."

Marshall sent the prisoners with the other members of the team and turned back to her. "Are you hurt?"

Shaking her head, Mary bent over to place her hands on her knees and take a few deep breaths. "Just trying not to be sick and embarrass myself," she croaked. Her partner stood quietly by her side with his hand on her head while she gathered her wits. "The last time I was ambushed like that it didn't turn out so well," she offered an explanation.

"You sure you're all right?" He knew she was still infused with adrenaline, injuries masked by the hormones, and any psychological trauma invisible.

"Just beat up," she answered, starting to feel the bumps and bruises from the fight. Straightening, she flashed him a grin and jerked her chin towards the road. "Let's get out of here, Cowboy. I'm good."

Marshall smiled and followed her out, pride a welcome companion.

* * *

Marshall sat straight up with her shout, reaching out to her blindly. Contact with her arm sent her scrambling out of the bed twisted up in the covers, and she landed heavily on the floor. He climbed over to help her as his brain caught up with his body. Nightmare. She had had one every night since the bust four days ago. Melanie had a lot to say, but it came down to the fact that they would fade in time and Mary's next session should help also. Meanwhile, Marshall insisted she stay with him until they decreased in frequency.

The sudden contact with the floor woke her completely, and Mary untangled herself to sit on the carpet and pant as she regained her equilibrium. "Shit," she whispered.

"Same dream?" Marshall asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he joined her on the floor.

She nodded and he took her hands in his. She had told him about the faceless figures and disembodied voices. They sat quietly for a few minutes, her breathing harsh in the dark room. Mary would tell him when she was ready.

"Okay," she finally said, and Marshall helped her off the floor. Putting the covers back together, he crawled back in and pulled her in after him. Mary tucked herself into him, head on his chest as his arms encircled her. Gradually, her trembling ceased and he felt her relax. He rubbed her back and allowed his eyes to drift shut.

Mary listened to her partner's heartbeat beneath her ear. Strong and steady, it beat fast and hard like her own until he calmed with her; his emotions mirroring hers. It soothed her, and Mary wondered at the significance. A simple sound that conveyed intimacy and comfort…and love.

"I love you," she whispered, amazed at how easy it was to say the words.

Marshall's eyes flew open and he gazed at the top of her head. He had to make sure what he thought he heard wasn't the beginning of a dream. "What?"

She raised her head to rest her chin on his chest. "I love you, Marshall. I have for a while. I don't know why it took me so long to say it."

"You had to be sure," he replied, tracing her cheekbone with a finger.

Mary wiggled up to place her forehead against his. "I'm sure."

Marshall pulled her in for a kiss and they both sighed with pleasure. The kiss ended with the beginning of the next, caresses becoming bolder and slightly frenzied. Pajama pants were poor barriers, and beads of sweat formed on Marshall's forehead as Mary's hands wandered increasingly further south.

"Jesus, Mary, you make me crazy," he moaned as she explored.

"Touch me, Marshall…please," she pleaded and gasped as he obeyed.

Clothes divested, Marshall finally rolled her under him and held her tightly as he pressed his face to her neck, shaking with his effort at control. "Mary," he ground out, needing her permission. She angled her hips and raised them to meet his, her intent clear. No words were left to be said as they fit together, both only able to move and feel. Moans to meet pleasure and gasps increasing in tempo until a murmur became a curse and bodies slid together on a shout. Seamless. Whole.

* * *

***** What more could you want: action, adventure, snark, fights and sweet sweet love! :) Thank you again for all your encouragement and kind words! Please don't leave the last chapter hangin'...REVIEW! *****


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